


The Amazing Devil

by Radenierafire



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Comfort/Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Fluff, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Being an Idiot, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Good Friend Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Good Parent Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Hurt/Comfort, Idk how to tag things, Insecure Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Multi, Not Beta Read, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Soft Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, feel free to tell me what to add to the tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:20:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23280046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Radenierafire/pseuds/Radenierafire
Summary: Jaskier uses his music to share what he's feeling even when the person he wants to share it with is not there.After the mountain things change.After the battle they change more.What is a bard to to but write ballads to cope?
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 133
Kudos: 242





	1. Two Minutes

**Author's Note:**

> So, I don't write anymore. But this wouldn't leave me alone. And eventually I'll write a second chapter with more conversation and fluff but don't hold your breath. 
> 
> (I love Yennefer a lot, but since this Jaskier's POV and he's frustrated with her it sounds a little accusatory at times. But I love her. So I don't wanna hear angry things about her in the comments.)
> 
> Please let me know if there's anything specific you want to hear more about, or you'd like me to write. 
> 
> That's all I've got now. I'll polish the summary/tags/notes later.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier took a deep breath and strummed slowly, “These hands are growing old, running out of things to hold.” He sang softly. He was entranced in his own mind, lost in his music in the way that only the bard was capable of being. He barely noticed as the crowd grew. Their gazes on him pitying but unseen. “If I’m good, will you come back?” He sang, voice barely a whisper.
> 
> The audience watched, as if asking the question as well. They looked around for whomever Jaskier was asking to return, as if they too wanted him to walk through the door. As if they understood.
> 
> They didn’t understand. Jaskier didn’t think anyone could.
> 
> If this life could give me one blessing.
> 
> Jaskier closed his eyes tightly as he continued to croon, stuck on one line, “If I’m good, will you come back?”

Jaskier took a deep breath and strummed slowly, _“These hands are growing old, running out of things to hold.”_ He sang softly. He was entranced in his own mind, lost in his music in the way that only the bard was capable of being. He barely noticed as the crowd grew. Their gazes on him pitying but unseen. _“If I’m good, will you come back?”_ He sang, voice barely a whisper.

The audience watched, as if asking the question as well. They looked around for whomever Jaskier was asking to return, as if they too wanted him to walk through the door. As if they understood.

They didn’t understand. Jaskier didn’t think anyone could.

_If this life could give me one blessing._

Jaskier closed his eyes tightly as he continued to croon, stuck on one line, _“If I’m good, will you come back?”_

_\-------------------------------------------------------------------------_

It had been weeks. Months. Hell. Jaskier thought it could have been a year since he last saw his witcher. He didn’t know. Time was a vague blur. A bird diving, you aren’t sure will pull up before it hits the ground. Racing forward at a dangerous pace towards a goal not rewarding, but necessary for survival . . . only it was hard not to wonder whether or not it would slam into the cold unforgiving ground before it reached what it was after. If it would meet an all too unsatisfying end prior to obtaining any semblance of success. If time and the bird both would crash, ending in an anti climactic thud. It was all well to imagine the worrisome yet beautiful metaphor, but when thinking of it, Jaskier was forced to face that it was true for his own life. 

He had walked down that mountain without any more thought. A soft, “Right. Well. I suppose I will- get the story from the others then.” And with that he left. He left because Geralt had asked him to. He left because he couldn’t bare to feel what was in his heart and if he could leave fast enough, perhaps it would stay there with Geralt.

It didn’t.

Still. He traveled on. Pushed himself down past the dwarves, moved on past the trails and treachery of the rock he’d climbed up. For the story. He had climbed up that mountain for adventure and tales to write of. To sing of. To wow and woo. He had been there only to experience a life to share with others, so why- on that godforsaken mountain- was his own not the life he was thinking about. As they traveled, Geralt’s eyes never left her. But Jaskier’s thoughts never strayed far from the witcher. It was infuriating. Why did he care so much about this insufferable man’s life? He tried so hard not to pay too close attention but- he could not stop. 

He couldn’t stop watching the way that Geralt watched Yennefer. Not when they bickered, not when that pitiful knight tried to win her affections. Geralt seemed entranced by Yennefer and Jaskier couldn’t help but watch the way he stared at her. His want. His need. It was written all over his face. To anyone who could read the language, it was evident. And Jaskier was fluent by now. However, even Jaskier had never seen the witcher full of such desire as he was when he was around the witch. He had never seen Geralt so- desperate. It wasn’t obvious. Nothing about Geralt ever was. Jaskier wasn’t surprised that no one else could see it. No one else knew the witcher enough to know that with every move he made he was practically begging Yennefer to pay him more mind. With every subtle, often aborted, attempt to reach out to touch her he was grasping onto her like a lifeline. No one was so tuned in to the man to understand the understated way in which Geralt moved, behaved, felt things . . . No one else could see that he was practically baring his soul to this woman. To this powerful, near-goddess. No one could see what Jaskier was seeing.

And he had to imagine that if they could they would feel exactly how he did. This- resentment. This anger and loneliness. Feelings he didn’t even understand. Feelings he didn’t want. This need to be like the witch. This desire to be powerful and passionate and beautiful enough to turn the witcher’s gaze to him instead. Jaskier wanted to be the one Geralt looked at. Wanted to be the person that Geralt held onto when there was danger. There was a definitive difference between the way Geralt stood in front of the bard when danger was around and the way he moved towards Yennefer when it presented itself. One was out of obligation. Geralt moved to protect Jaskier because he thought Jaskier to be weak. In need of protection. He moved to Yennefer because he wanted to put himself between her and anything that could be a nuisance. One was duty. One was want. Jaskier was so painfully aware of that, and the feelings that it created in him were- self loathing in a way he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt.

Well. No. It was self loathing that could only be compared to the self loathing of- standing on the outskirts of the camp. Hearing the soft grunts. Hearing the slap of skin on skin. Of taking himself in his own hand, and closing his eyes. He was so well known for his imagination. Despite the self loathing he felt- he couldn’t help his mind from imagining that it was him in place of the witch. Not because of the feeling, but because of the sentiment. Geralt was strong with Yennefer but- Jaskier could always hear when it had shifted. Shifted to something deeper than sex. At least- for him. More often than not, Jaskier and Geralt would finish at the same time. Yennefer took a few extra moments to be satisfied, and though Geralt was happy to appease, Jaskier used that time to run. To get himself back to camp before they heard him and try to compose himself despite the angry hatred that was consuming him from the inside out. Anger felt like such an unnatural feeling for a man like Jaskier. Even more unnatural that it was turned in on himself.

But those nights passed, and they continued to travel. All the way up the mountain, they went. Despite a few brief moments on the side of it when Jaskier thought- surely. This was it. Geralt was so very close to death as he often was. It was not the proximity to death that worried Jaskier, but the way Geralt's demeanor changed afterwards. The witcher seemed genuinely distraught at loosing the man who had employed him. Jaskier knew well that the witcher felt an overwhelming guilt and when Jaskier went to comfort him- the bard quickly found the witcher seeking comfort from another. He retreated again. Retreated to the others on this trip and tried to follow them . . . only suddenly he couldn’t move. 

Jaskier wasn’t sure what had occurred, but suddenly he was still. Not by his own volition, but rather by someone or something keeping him there. Something had swarmed its way through his body and turned him to stone. He was a statue there on the side of the mountain. Only, his mind was still present. He was still awake. He was frozen and it was like being trapped in his own mind. He saw Yennefer and Geralt passing- together. Of course. And simply had to stay back. He stood there unmoving, but so thoroughly running his own mind rampant. He could hear above them. Noise. A battle of some kind. When the strict hold of magic let go of him he took off. He didn’t care what he might face when reaching the top of the mountain, he had to get there . . . He had to see that Geralt was okay. He simply had to see with his own eyes that Geralt was alive.

And then he could move again.

So, he ran.

When he finally caught up it wasn’t the tale he was afraid he lost.

He saw the bodies of men who had been put down. The fight here, it had to have been epic. Jaskier couldn’t bring himself to care that he hadn’t been here for it. He needed to find Geralt. He heard voices and started off in that direction. He traveled part of the way down the mountain- and then he found them. He found Geralt and Yennefer. Bickering no less. Jaskier tried to lighten things, as much as he could. 

It didn’t help.

Jaskier saw the miniscule way in which Geralt flinched back when Yennefer spat angry, hateful words at the witcher. She spoke to him as though it was true that witchers felt nothing. She spoke as though her words weren’t capable of slicing through the man in ways a sword couldn’t. In that moment, watching Geralt crumble in ways no other man would be able to tell- Jaskier hated the witch, quite a lot. To be blessed with so much love from Geralt. To throw it away in anger.

However, even Jaskier couldn’t deny that what Geralt did- using the djinn to intertwine their fates? It was not fair to the woman. Hate her as he might, he could not deny her anger. Though he despised how she used it, it was what she was owed.

And then she was gone. In mere moments, the witch disappeared. Not magically, of course. Jaskier thought perhaps that would have been a blessing. Instead, the bard and witcher watched her walk away. Jaskier nearly held his breath for the moments following. Geralt was still as glass. Jaskier thought for sure a gust of wind could knock him over and shatter him on the rock, but when Jaskier did speak Geralt himself was the one turned to stone.

_If life could give me one blessing._

Geralt was angry. Jaskier could tell that Geralt was angry. But the anger was being misplaced. Geralt was angry at himself with no outlet. So, he was taking it out on Jaskier. Blaming him for things Geralt couldn’t possibly genuinely see as Jaskier’s fault. What he’d influenced had always been an accident. Surely, Geralt knew that Jaskier never meant to hinder him. Quite the opposite actually.

_If life could give me one blessing._

Geralt was spewing venom similar to Yennefer, but Jaskier was just so happy to see him. Even an angry Geralt was a blessing compared to a dead one. When Jaskier had been frozen, he had imagined a hundred scenarios in which he made it up the mountain and Geralt was dead. All of them were violent. Gory. They all added up to sights that Jaskier realized he was- absolutely terrified of seeing.

_If life could give . . ._

Jaskier understood why Geralt was saying that he blamed Jaskier for all of this. He didn’t blame Geralt. Not for his anger. Jaskier could see that that was what this was. Anger. Blind. Consuming. Unintentional . . . He just kept thinking that. Telling himself that. That had to be the truth . . . 

_Me one blessing . . ._

But then it shifted. It became harder to convince himself that this meant nothing. Harder to excuse the words that Geralt was saying. It became harder to brush off the insults and accusation with the guise of intent. Jaskier found it harder to convince himself that Geralt was just venting in anger and hurt. It stopped seeming like an insincere rant. It didn’t seem like anger. It seemed like truth.

_It would be . . ._

Jaskier scoffed at himself. Well. He did so mentally. Geralt couldn’t mean this. He couldn’t genuinely think that Jaskier was nothing but a bard that brought him trouble. They had been through enough that Jaskier had begun to believe them to be genuine friends. Hell, he had started to feel even more for the witcher. Though he knew that was unrequited, it wasn’t possible that Jaskier meant no more than an irritating gnat to the witcher.

_To take you . . ._

Didn’t Geralt understand? That it had long since stopped being about the adventure. That he didn’t follow the story. He followed Geralt. 

_Off my hands . . ._

Yennefer was gone. Geralt didn’t have to keep pinning this on Jaskier. She had walked away, and Jaskier had stayed. Through it all. Through the entire rant. He waited even after, hoping that Geralt would turn around. Realize what he’d said. Not apologize, no, Jaskier didn’t expect that of him. But perhaps acknowledge that Jaskier hadn’t intended to do any of the things that Geralt had just decided were on him . . .

There was no waver. Gerlalt couldn’t even look at him.

So . . . He had walked down that mountain without any more thought. He walked away with only a soft, “Right. Well. I suppose I will- get the story from the others then.” He walked away because Geralt had asked him to. He walked away because he couldn’t bare to feel what was in his heart and if he could leave fast enough, perhaps it would stay there with Geralt. He walked away because he didn’t know what else to do. He walked away because Geralt had finally convinced Jaskier that he was unwelcome. He nearly ran away because he should have realized that sooner.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jaskier traveled on his own for a while. He passed through towns, finding the bed of whomever would let him spend the night. He rarely cared what they asked for in return. If pleasing someone was the way he found a bed to sleep in he made use of the skills that came so naturally to him. And if perhaps . . . at times . . . those skills were used, imagining he was with another? So long as he never admitted it out loud, no one could blame him for still feeling the way he did.

Eventually traveling became a nuisance. He was tired. He was growing old. And he was doing so alone. Adventures were rarely fun to have by one’s self. Every once in a while he wondered. He let his mind drift to consideration as to whether or not Geralt was finding himself any sort of entertained. If a life without Jaskier’s presence. Was he feeling blessed after all? Did he wish that Jaskier was still there? Did Jaskier wish he was still there?

One particularly rough night, after a few long drinks Jaskier felt compelled. He walked over to the corner where he’d left his lute when he finished his set. He sat and gently started strumming. He slowly became lost in thought. Composing with an audience was not something ever really enjoyed. He preferred to polish his music before showing it to anyone. Of course, on the road he had composed around Geralt all the time. They were rarely apart and- Jaskier was not cocky enough to claim that Geralt enjoyed his music, but there were times when Jaskier was writing that he could have been convinced that Geralt prefered his singing to his speaking. The way the edges around the witcher would soften ever so slightly. The way he looked at Jaskier as though he were seeing the bard truly. _“It’s like all the wallpaper inside my heart . . . is slowly peeling off . . . and I’m showing stains and things . . . they wrote on the wall before . . . we’ve left all the blinking lights and shouting behind us now and I’ll stare at you as you stare right back at the sky . . . “_ He sang quietly, more to himself than to the people around him. He missed that expression. The one Geralt wore when he seemed to enjoy being around Jaskier. Seemed being the operative word there. 

Had Geralt ever done anything more than tolerate Jaskier’s presence?

Jaskier had enjoyed teasing the witcher. Enjoyed pretending to be a nuisance. Yet, he had never intended to actually be a burden. He even tried fairly often not to be one. When Geralt appeared to be concerned Jaskier had tried so hard to convince him not to be. He enjoyed poking fun, but when it had mattered he had truly tried. Tried to keep up with the witcher and the life he lived.

 _“Give me two damn minutes, and I’ll be fine.”_ He breathed. It sounded more like a plea than a song.

 _“Give me two damn minutes, and I’ll be fine.”_ Why hadn’t he waited? Stepped back and given Geralt space to think when Yennefer left? Would it have done anything? Would Geralt still have been so cruel with Jaskier? Would it still have rung so true? And did it matter? Ultimately. Was Geralt not going to outlive him? Jaskier was foolish for thinking that something could be had between them. No relationship could blossom, be it friendship or anything else. Jaskier was so incredibly insignificant.

 _“These hands are growing cold. They’re running out of things to hold.”_ He nearly whispered and glanced up, noticing the crowd that had gathered and feeling his face heat up slightly. He cleared his throat, _“Give me two damn minutes and I’ll be fine.”_ He murmured before shakily inhaling and setting his lute off to the side. 

When he actually looked at the people around him he noticed a tear in more than one eye. He saw the pain on their faces. Each probably with their own tale of heartbreak and rejection. A young woman spoke up, “Please. Bard. Keep going.” She said gently. And Jaskier stared at her. He nodded silently, seemingly for the first time in his life- out of words to say. He picked back up his lute. The one he’d been gifted so long ago on his first adventure with the witcher. His witcher. 

_“If you knew . . ._

_All that I’d done . . ._

_The hearts I’ve- broken . . . “_

He sang this time with a soft smile. Moderately amused by the irony. Jaskier was nothing to him. A blink in the span of Geralt’s life and- Geralt had become everything to Jaskier. How could he have let himself have such feelings for someone so much- more than he could ever dream of being? Jaskier had to face that Geralt deserved a Yennefer. Someone smart and beautiful and powerful. Someone who could match him and challenge him. It seemed such a coincidence. Such a morbidly humorous outcome that Jaskier, a man full of such love and passion could sleep with hundreds of people and not feel a thing for them and then- fall so hard for someone so thoroughly uninterested in him. Someone infamous for not feeling.

He supposed that that was part of the allure. The myth. That witcher’s didn’t feel. It was so far from true. Jaskier saw that in Geralt. Saw that he cared passionately. Deeply. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel it was that he didn’t say it. He simply showed it. And most were not used to that. No. Geralt did not speak his affections. He yelled them. Through his actions.

_“Sweet nothings . . ._

_Are screamed . . ._

_Not spoken . . . “_

He supposed that that was also a part of the frustration. That Jaskier could see how strong Geralt’s feelings were. That he could read them even when Geralt struggled to understand them. That Jaskier was fairly certain that Yennefer could see them too. Or sense them. Or whatever her stupid infuriating magic allowed her to do. She had to be aware of it. She had to have seen exactly how strongly Geralt felt for her and she still couldn’t understand. She couldn’t sympathize. Recognize his stupidity for what it was. Geralt just wanted to be what she wanted. And Yennefer was so smart that Jaskier was convinced that she knew that and yet. She threw it in his face. Yelled at Geralt. Accused him. Crucified him on the spot. And for all Jaskier knew it may have happened time and time again since then. 

Geralt could have followed Yennefer. Begged for her forgiveness. Tried to make it up to her. Jaskier didn’t know if they had reconciled. If they were together right now. If they were fucking right this moment. Slow and passionate, rough and angry. If Geralt had found a way to make up for his lapse in judgement. Jaskier didn’t know anything other than the fact that he walked down that mountain alone and that he’d stayed that way since then.

 _“If there was one place I could be right now I’d . . . be standing there between you and him . . . and I’ll fight you both, fight you both for the rest of my life long days . . . “_ He sang softly. It surprised even himself. He’d never sung to Yennefer. Never written to her. He had been so angry with her. For having what he wanted and being ungrateful. And he realized that she and he and Geralt were all in this in an incredibly frustrating and intertwined way. Geralt- more likely than not, was feeling the exact same way that Jaskier was right now. Lost. Rejected. So full of a love he would never feel returned. 

_“But today we ripped it off,”_ He whispered, struggling to find the words. The right ones. The lyrics to convey it. To convey it all. _“We ripped it off, we showed the world that we exist,”_ That bards hurt. That witches fear. That witchers feel. _“Never really liked the pattern that much on the wallpaper so anyway.”_ They had never been the ones allowed to decorate themselves. He couldn't help but imagine that they would all have been so much more beautiful if they'd been allowed.

_“Give me two damn minutes and i’ll be fine,_

_Give me two damn minutes and i’ll be fine.”_ This time it was a request of his audience. To listen. To understand. What he was really saying. What he really meant. To grant him patience as he tried to find his way back to his own peace of mind. To understand that he was tired. _“These hands are growing old, running out of things to hold . . . give me two damn minutes and I’ll be fine.”_

Jaskier closed his eyes again. He thought for the briefest of moments about Cirilla. The princess. He wondered if the witcher would ever go to her. If he did, would he ever find her. _“I can hear the children calling . . . as though across the bar. I can hear the children calling . . . “_ He breathed. It didn’t make sense. He knew his audience wouldn’t understand the complexity of that line alone. But he wasn’t singing this for them anymore. Would Geralt protect Ciri? Would Yennefer ever find her family? Would Jaskier continue to be alone? Would this child unite them once again? More than likely not. Would it hurt more to wish that she would? Did she have the power to do that? Or was it up to them?

_“If I’m good, will you come back?”_

Was it up to Jaskier to convince Geralt to give this a second try? Would Geralt be willing if Jaskier were to be able to keep himself in check more efficiently? If Jaskier could stop feeling so strongly, if he could keep himself out of trouble, if he could manage not to be a burden? 

_“If I’m good, will you come back?”_

Would Yennefer ever forgive Geralt? Would she ever be able to understand the lengths he would go for her? Would she ever return to him with a sympathetic ear and let him explain that he acted out of uncertainty. He had never been in love with a woman so magnificent. He has behaved unacceptably because he had never felt something so strong and so good. Would she listen and know that in a life with only awful things to feel, Geralt was going to fight for the person who made him feel more understood than anyone else?

_“If I’m good, will you come back?”_

If Geralt and Yennefer reconciled would they return? Would they allow Jaskier to return to their lives? Would Jaskier want to? To ride along, content just to be near two such beautiful beings. 

_“To us . . . “_

And the audience watched, as if asking the question as well. Jaskier could see it as he opened his eyes. They looked around for whomever Jaskier was asking to return, as if they too wanted him to walk through the door. As if they understood.

They didn’t understand. Jaskier didn’t think anyone could.

_If this life could give me one blessing._

Jaskier closed his eyes tightly as he continued to croon, stuck on one line. His eyes close as he asked, again and again. _“If I’m good, will you come back . . . If I’m good, will you come back . . . If I’m good, will you come back . . . To us?”_

“You were always good. I shouldn’t have left.” 

Jaskier stopped playing, his heart lurching at the voice. He opened his eyes and looked up. It couldn’t possibly be. He looked directly at- Yennefer. Cirilla. And Geralt himself. 

“Fuck.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on Joey's song "Two Minutes" from The Amazing Devil's album Love Run.


	2. Not Yet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's an admission he's not sure Geralt will hear or understand. Judging by the way Geralt continues his walk up the stairs Jaskier guesses he's done neither.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I don't know how long this is gonna be, but it doesn't feel like it's over. I suppose we'll just have to see.

From the moment that Geralt opened his stupid mouth and spoke that evening, there have been two people living in Jaskier’s head. Two very loud, very opinionated people who would not leave any room for Jaskier to think. Geralt showed up and Jaskier’s brain stopped working the way it was supposed to. Now that they've all come together. The witch, the princess, the witcher and the bard. Now that all of that has occured, Jaskier seemed to contain two people. Or rather, two voices. He is well aware that it is his own voice singing two different songs, which gives him quite the artistic idea, but it still causes him strife.

Jaskier had thought that they would be on their way. This trio of adventurers, beaten and bloody. He assumed when they stopped by that it would be just that. A stop on the way to whatever destination they had their maps set to. He assumed that he was just an unfortunate bother they would have to see. He assumed that Geralt would nod and grunt before grabbing Yennefer and Cirilla and taking them as far away from the Bard as possible. He made these assumptions because the trio looked like they had had quite enough trouble, and according to Geralt, Jaskier brought nothing but. If Geralt had changed his mind, he definitely hadn’t told Jaskier that. Not at all. It seemed as though 'I shouldn't have left' would turn out to be about as much apology as Jaskier was going to get. 

Although, the bard did have to admit that that might be partially because he's made himself scarce. He rarely stuck around the room that they stayed in, and rarer even was he there when Geralt was there alone. In fact, Jaskier was fairly certain that he hadn’t been alone in a room with the witcher at all since they had met again. Jaskier didn’t know what he would do if he did end up in a room alone with Geralt. Nothing good.

After all, Jaskier should be angry still. He should still look at Geralt and hear the words he had thrown at Jaskier to push him back down that mountain. He should have been furious that Geralt thought a simple admission of regret was enough that Jaskier would turn the other cheek and let them stay with him. And part of him was. 

That was the first voice. The voice that announced his anger each time he looked at Geralt. Because part of him was absolutely livid, for when Geralt showed up Jaskier didn’t hesitate to show Yennefer and Ciri to his room. In fact, he made them the bed and pulled a few blankets to the floor for himself. His pride did not allow him to make a bed for Geralt, instead he drew a bath for the youngest and then made himself busy getting them food and drink so the princess could have some semblance of privacy while she bathed. After getting clean, eating, and collapsing into the bed the girls were quick to fall asleep. Jaskier was quick to slip away. He was angry. He was overwhelmed. He certainly didn’t want to be in a room with Geralt when they were the only two conscious. He retreated down the stairs to the tavern beneath the room. To his slight dismay, Geralt was quick to follow. The first voice did not hesitate to point out that he did not want the company. 

However, no more was addressed in reference to the two of them. The first voice gained no new material for its angry tune. Instead, as they sat at the bar, Geralt simply filled him in on the battle that he and his two women had just faced. Told him how they wound up here in this town. And despite how long they had been apart, Jaskier could see. How Geralt faltered ever so slightly. Nilfgaard. The name alone enough to pause the story as it was being told. Jaskier supposed there was apology in the details of the tale. He knew that Geralt was trying to compensate by giving Jaskier what he so often asked for from the Witcher. 

A good story.

And the second voice sang, belted more like. That Geralt was alive. That Geralt was here. More than anything it sang a glorious melody in Jaskier’s head because the witcher was giving him the opportunity to write his greatest song yet. Jaskier should be rejoicing. Should be writing down every word from the witcher’s mouth.

However, the gruesome experiences provided little comfort to the bard. He found it hard to hear the ballad in the war he was learning of. Found it harder still to want to hear of something so devastating it shook Geralt to his core. He realized in times like this, that the second voice was substantially quieter than the first. He found himself holding his breath until Geralt got to the part where he, Yennefer, and Cirilla were all resting in a nearby town when they heard of Jaskier in the tavern not far away. 

He didn’t know whether or not he found it comforting that they figured it would be a good place to sleep with a familiar face. The second voice sang that it was, the first was silent. Jaskier wasn’t certain what to do with that.

Regardless, comforting or not, Jaskier agreed. It was safer here. He told Geralt as much. He did not miss the moment of uncertainty in Geralt’s expression. The world had never been safe for Geralt, but he had founded himself on trying to make it safer for others. Now, that belief- that drive- was diminished. Jaskier could see the guilt. He knew that some of it was aimed towards himself, knew that Geralt wasn’t sure how to address the nature of their relationship now. He knew that some of the guilt was for not knowing how to help them, but . . . he knew that more of it was aimed at what Geralt perceived as failure. The responsibility Geralt felt for the strife that Yennefer and Cirilla had experienced. 

Jaskier apologized for missing the battle. “It would have made a good story.” He said. 

“Hmm.” Was all the response he received. 

And then, he expected them to leave. But again, they did not. 

It wasn’t like Jaskier could just pick up and go on with his life either. No, Jaskier had signed a contract to perform here for a while. He had decided when he arrived that it was the-middle-of-nowhere-enough that no one would find him and no one would bother him here. Even though he was wrong, he had to stay. He had a job to do, and despite Yennefer’s slight quip about being surprised that he cared enough to be responsible, Jaskier was going to do it. To his surprise, the trio decided to stay with him. 

He was aware that it was mostly to give Ciri some space. He knew that the young woman needed something that resembled normalcy. Despite his frustration with her newfound parental figures, Jaskier didn’t have it in his heart not to do his best to give it to her.

Still, Jaskier didn't know how he felt about sharing the room with the other three. That was the subject on which the two voices most often argued in his head. The second voice consistently advocates gratitude. If they were here and safe, Jaskier needn’t be so afraid for them. If they were far away from the battle, Jaskier didn’t have to feel so afraid that it would take their life. The first voice still fought to convince him that it wasn’t fair. It simply wasn’t. For these three to force themselves into his life. To take up space in his mind. In his bed . . . But he did rarely have to consider it as he often decided not to be in the room. 

Of course, he was there often enough to know that Geralt was . . . struggling. To see that in the little things, the witcher had difficulty keeping himself from getting lost in his own head. More than he ever had before. Geralt was struggling. To recover. To cope. To deal with whatever had happened on that battlefield. Jaskier could see it again. The things that others didn’t. 

He was in the room often enough to know that he wanted to make it better. The second voice grew loud and persistent when he saw Geralt trying to rid himself of a headache. It sang to Jaskier to go. Provide comfort. To gently run his fingers through Geralt’s hair until the witcher could feel nothing but soothed. It forgot the battle and the desire to make art out of tragedy. Instead, the second voice insisted that Jaskier could make it better. Insisted that this time, Jaskier could be the comfort that Geralt needed . . . However, the first voice did not hesitate to remind Jaskier that he deserved better. That he all but hated himself for still wanting to be that after everything Geralt had put him through. The first voice came back with a vengeance wanting to turn Geralt’s terror into Jaskier’s own success. Times like that, Jaskier wanted to run from the room so that he did not have to see his own anger rear its ugly cruel head.

Admittedly, he was not in the room often enough to see that Yennefer was no longer the person Geralt wanted comfort from . . . 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Instead, the bard took the two voices in his head, hid himself away in the corner of his tavern and put them to work writing music. If they were to be so loud in his mind, they ought to do some good and allow him to put their sentiments into words. And oh, how he did. He would sit on his stool, a crowd gathering the moment he appeared. He would strum his lute quietly, wondering which one would start this time. Wondering if they would fight and clash or sing in beautiful harmony.

Despite being the quieter of the two, the second voice would often be the first to speak. In all of it’s sentimentality, the second voice would lament, 

_ "It seems _

_ To me _

_ That you can’t sleep"  _ For it was hard to forget the turning and tossing that Geralt did in the late of night. Hard to leave the room fast enough that his thoughts didn’t stray to what could happen if he stayed.

However, the first was rarely slow to contradict those feelings. No, the first voice was not so waved by seeing the witcher so unsettled. It wanted to envision the battle. The adventure. Ignore the effects it had had on Geralt. 

_ “By hook or by crooked look give me land _

_ One fist holds a lighter the other your hand” _ The first voice would rant rhythmically. The second would try to intervene. To point out that even in anger, Jaskier could not deny the remaining appeal of holding tight to Geralt and traveling with him again . . . The first voice sang louder. ” _ The oh’s of your screams still echo in yer dreams,” _ The first voice said, demanding to be heard. “ _ I’ll point you steer and we’ll rip up the map by the seams”  _ the first voice persuaded. Jaskier was not to follow Geralt anymore. No. He should fight instead to be in command of his own destinations . . . But he was oh- so tired of fighting.

He supposed that particular exhaustion was part of the reason he did not allow the first voice to convince him towards any kind of confrontation with Yennefer. Well- that exhaustion and the way he noticed how Yennefer poured love into the young girl they had taken in. It was such a startling change to see. How it was Ciri that kept her balanced. That kept her temper at bay. Yennefer showed a gentle instinct helping the girl with her nightmares. All the while, Cirir need only climb into bed with Yennefer to grant the witch calm. Jaskier wasn't sure he had ever seen such peace. Even as they lay in Jaskier’s own bed- he finds himself drawn to observing how naturally they just . . . fit.

_ “It seems oh it seems, to me”  _ The second voice sings, surprising Jaskier. He had almost forgotten what he was doing. What surprised him most was that it seemed as though the voice was singing to Jaskier himself.

_ “That you _

_ You can’t sleep” _

And he realized it was true. Amidst his watching Geralt, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Amidst his wanting to step forward and take care of his witcher. His? The. Amidst his running from the room to hide from himself and the others. Amidst his worrying and wondering about the two women. Jaskier realized that he also didn’t sleep. That he had become so much smaller than he’d ever been before. Even now. There was no prancing around. No dancing to entertain the crowd. This was him. Bare. The second voice was quiet in sympathy and Jaskier almost fell silent as well, strangled by the realization.

But the first voice was not so fast to give in. It reared its head again and demanded to know why the bard cared so much about the health and wellbeing of these two women? Why did he sacrifice his sleep and peace to give them theirs? The first voice demanded to know why, but Jaskier had yet to figure it out. He was supposed to hate Yennefer.

_ “Grab the stroud and we’ll roar to the clouds come and get us _

_ And the wind picks up up up and I’ll never let you _

_ Down it’s time to fight don’t be yellow bellied _

_ Hold the bar at Hurley's hurly burly's give em hell give em /hell _

_ But he could not. Did not.” _

The first voice sang furiously, a blatant attempt to distract from everything that the second voice was bringing to his attention. But even as he sang the verse, even as the crowd watched . . . Jaskier wasn’t there. No, he was listening to the second voice with much more interest than usual. He realized that he himself had become the one good constant for all three of them. So long as he and Geralt were not alone, Jaskier was the steady soft touch and smile the trio needed to remind them that they were out of the war now. The second voice was gentle. It reminded Jaskier how, on a particularly rough night, the bard had walked into their crowded room late at night. He moved on past the makeshift bed made for Geralt, and took to the floor as he had the least healing to do. But even so late and from the floor he could hear it. Geralt's soft moves. Restless and distressed. Almost imperceptible, but so glaringly obvious to the bard. The second voice reminded Jaskier how he hadn't been able to help himself. Jaskier had sighed, stood, and walked over. He carefully took place, sitting beside Geralt. 

_ “but I held your hand _

_ As you shook in the middle of the night” _ The faintest of smiles graced the bard’s face as he recounted that night. As the second voice began to win this argument. Began to take over the song. 

Geralt had gripped Jaskier’s hand just as tight. Jaskier heard the shift in his breathing. He knew that Geralt wasn’t asleep. He knew the witcher needed to pretend as though he was in order to accept the comfort. He didn’t comment, “ _ Without waking you said _

_ Not yet not yet _

_ Not yet not yet _

_ Not yet not” _

And despite the conflict in his chest, Jaskier decided to stay. He stayed at the witcher’s side through the night. Despite the first voice composing a new song about a selfish witcher, unfairly asking for pieces of a heart that he had broken. Jaskier stayed. As he had never heard the witcher ask for something before. Something purely for himself. ‘Selfish,’ the first voice claimed. ‘Bare,’ the second corrected. Jaskier stayed. He stayed because the witcher asked him to. 

And then, to Jaskier’s utmost surprise, Geralt broke the illusion. He showed his vulnerability. Showed that he was, in fact, awake. Jaskier’s heart skipped as the witcher whispered, "Sing." 

His heart skipped. And then Jaskier sang. 

_ “Sing me awake with a song about pirates _

_ And I will try to harmonise _

_ And sip the sunlight from your eyes _

_ Oh sing me awake _

_ With all the things we’ll do today _

_ But instead we’ll build a den _

_ Out of pillows and get drunk again” _ He breathed the lullabye. He sang and gently used his free hand, succumbing to the advice of the second voice and gently pressing his hand through Geralt’s hair. He sang the song from his own youth countless times, never once wavering his soft and gentle touch. He sang and held Geralt’s hand as though he was the one who needed the contact to ground him. He sang, because Geralt had asked him to.

Sitting here in his little tavern corner, Jaskier sang it again, and couldn't help but laugh at the irony. That he still felt so alone even after they showed back up in his life. He was right back to where he had thought that he wanted to be all of those weeks ago when they left. He had everything he had thought that he wanted and he wasn’t sure that he’d ever felt so alone even when he’d first started this journey. He wasn’t sure he’d ever felt so alone. He wasn’t sure he’d ever felt so unsuccessful. He wasn’t sure he’d ever felt so old. He laughed bitterly as the first voice broke back out and finally got it’s turn to speak. He glanced up at a young man and winked. 

_ "Cos everyone knows sex is better when you’re _

_ Unemployed"  _ And it had to be. Didn't it. Because when you were unemployed. Alone. recovering from hell. Sex. Intimacy. That connection was all you had. Except that, the first voice reminded, Jaskier didn’t even have that. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d shared a bed with anyone. It did boost his ego slightly that the young man went red and leaned in slightly closer. 

But then, Jaskier looked up and saw them. Golden eyes on him. Geralt was there. Watching. Alone. His expression was tight, as he glanced between the young man and the bard. It almost seemed like a challenge. Which was- infuriating. Who was Geralt to look any kind of judgmental towards Jaskier and someone he was perhaps trying to flirt with? It was harmless. It was just- fun. 

With gall that Jaskier wasn’t sure he actually had, the first voice sang out. “ _ It seems” _ it began, and Jaskier saw that Geralt was watching him intently. “ _ oh it seems _

_ To me _

_ That you _

_ You can’t dance _

_ For shit” _ He breathed and couldn’t help but smirk at the way that Geralt bristled. He saw the way Geralt's eyes glistened. He knew that Geralt knew. That this ballad was also about him. Seeing the recognition in Geralt’s face gave him a slightly bitter satisfaction. Geralt hated attention. But here in this moment, he had to acknowledge that though the room didn’t know, every person in it was listening to a description of the witcher. Jaskier got a slightly angry joy out of knowing that Geralt was realizing right now that this song was about him. 

It made Jaskier wonder if Geralt understood that they all were. 

His expression softened, the hard edges of his smile became soft. He went from vindictive to- sad, almost. He knew what Geralt was trying to recover from. The abandonment. He knew from the murmurs in Geralt’s sleep, that something had forced him to face the decision his mother had made. He knew that Geralt hadn’t appreciated the outcome.

_ “Where is god ma,” _ He mumbled, his gaze dropping as did the mood in the room. He reached over and grabbed his drink,  _ “Where’s the vodka?” _ He said with a laugh. He could feel the confusion from the room. He refused to look at Geralt. He didn’t know if Geralt could understand where Jaskier’s mind had gone. How Jaskier couldn't- fuck, did he even know how to put what he was thinking into words? He wondered if Geralt could see how Jaskier couldn’t help but wonder on Geralt’s behalf, whether Geralt’s mother would make the same decision twice. And perhaps Jaskier was feeling too sentimental. Perhaps he had drank a bit too much for him to be wondering. But he didn’t figure that he’d have another opportunity to voice this. Didn’t believe that Geralt would ever ask him directly. But Jaskier had to believe that if Geralt’s mother saw the pain she'd put her son through. If she saw the consequences of the decision she had made. She wouldn't have made it at all. 

_ “If my old mum could see me now _

_ Oh how she’d howl she’d howl.” _ He said softly. An admission so subtle he wasn’t sure the witcher would even understand it. 

He wondered the same of Geralt. If he had known, how Jaskier felt and what it had meant. To push him away like that? Would he have said it still?  _ If life could give me one blessing. _ Geralt had cut deep. Jaskier felt something heavy in his chest and he wasn’t even certain where this song was going. He realized that the voices had silenced the moment he looked up to see Geralt. He swallowed hard and stared at Geralt. If this was the night for confessions. He may as well go for it.

_ “Hold my hand _

_ As you shook in the middle of the night” _

Geralt looked down. And Jaskier would have killed a man to know- to know exactly what he was thinking. Whether or not he was regretful for the tender moments they had shared. Whether or not he appreciated when Jaskier all but sang him back to sleep.

_ “Without waking” _ He sang quietly, staring at Geralt carefully. He was providing an out. They could pretend. Pretend Geralt had never woken up. That he’d never asked for more. 

_ “you said _

_ Not yet, not yet _

_ Not yet, not yet _

_ Not yet, not yet _

_ Not yet, not yet _

_ Not yet, not yet _

_ Not yet, not yet, not yet, not-” _ God. When had it gotten so warm in here? Jaskier found that he couldn’t quite breathe. He stared at Geralt who was staring steadfastly at the floor in front of Jaskier’s feet. 

It sort of hit him. He didn't want Geralt to leave. He needed Geralt to understand what he meant to him. 

_ “Sing me awake with a song about pirates,” _

Geralt was adventure. 

_ “And I will try to harmonise,” _

Jaskier couldn't keep up. He understood that now. 

_ “And sip the sunlight from your eyes,” _

Geralt looked back up, and Jaskier could have drowned in the gold of his eyes. This time Jaskier had to look away. 

_ “Oh sing me awake _

_ With all the things we’ll do today _

_ But instead we’ll build a den _

_ Out of pillows and get drunk again” _

That seemed to be exactly what they were doing. In their shared room. They were playing at family. Pretending they all belonged together. Living together in a peaceful but unstable manner. A den of pillows was one blow from caving in. And it did feel as though they were never sober long enough to face what they had done to one another. Until now. 

Jaskier’s chest heaved. It was easy enough to pass as exertion. He’d been playing quite triumphantly. Yes, he could have seemed quite invested in his music if he and Geralt weren’t staring at one another in an unwavering moment.

The tavern watched on bated breath. 

Jaskier found it hard to breathe.

He had to break it. 

_ “Cos everyone knows sex is better when you’re _

_ Unemployed" _ He whispered.

Geralt’s brow furrowed in the slightest change of his expression, and Jaskier noticed. The second the moment broke Geralt closed back off. Jaskier swallowed hard around a lump that had placed itself in the back of his throat, and watched as Geralt got up and started walking towards the stairs that would lead him up to their room. 

Before he could stop himself he seized the last of the moment to be honest with his witcher. 

_ “I cannot find the words to keep you” _

Jaskier knew that he was still second to Yennefer. That if she and Ciri wished to move on, Jaskier would once again be left behind.

_ “It cannot be a lie if no one hears” _

It’s almost an apology. Not that Geralt is quite owed one. But still. Jaskier has been running from this conversation for quite some time. But this was a way to have it while still getting to decide whether or not it has been had. If they wanted not to hear it, it was easy enough to pretend that this was just a song.

_ “Let the seabirds _

_ Don’t turn 'round _

_ He says” _

It's an admission he's not sure Geralt will hear or understand. Judging by the way Geralt continues his walk up the stairs Jaskier guesses he's done neither. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on Joey's song "Not Yet" from The Amazing Devil's album Love Run.


	3. Fair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And perhaps Ciri could see it too, for she seemed comforted by the explanation. Comforted enough to lean into Yennefer’s side and look at Jaskier sleepily. “Sing?” She asked.
> 
> His heart skipped. And with warmth in his chest . . . Jaskier sang.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. I'm seeing the end of this story? But it's still a couple chapters out. And the chapters keep getting longer . . .   
> Pls comment. It's what makes me post tbh.

And then Geralt was gone. Jaskier didn’t know where he left, but after that night in the pub. After he bared his heart, the witcher vanished. 

It hurt.

Again.

What Jaskier couldn’t decide, was whether or not it hurt more or less than the last time he was without the other. In some ways, it hurt less. There was less anger. No words of frustration or resentment for Jaskier to play over in his head like a sad tune. No glare, no expression of distrust for Jaskier to see when he closed his eyes. Just- Nothing. 

One moment he was there. The next. He was not.

It was as though nothing had changed, and that somehow made it so much worse. 

The days moved onward and Jaskier was surprised to find himself still accompanied by the witch and her make-shift daughter. Cirilla had slowly begun to blossom under the care of a tired bard and a loving mage. Jaskier gave her everything soft. Warm clothes, food, and shelter. He entertained her and brought her out to the market so she could choose new clothes to wear. He taught her to whistle and hear the music in the breeze. Yennefer taught her to fight. To focus and understand her power and use it not for destruction but defense. She taught Ciri to recognize danger and avoid it rather than run into it. Ciri learned to fight with her own hands as well as her magic. She grew. Became balanced. And every once in a while Jaskier would venture to say that she was happy.

But he had learned not to believe in what things appeared to be. 

Still, the new trio found a bit of a routine. In the morning, Yennefer would go out with the young girl. They would train. They spoke, as well, Jaskier was fairly certain. Though what of? He would likely never know. They would spend the day out and then come back in time for lunch which Jaskier would provide. After lunch, Jaskier would take time to teach Cirilla. Academics were never his greatest strength, but he knew it was important to be as sharp as the next person in times of negotiation. And when, after learning, they went out to the market, Jaskier got to see that academia work in person.

After a day of activities Ciri was often ready to rest. She would eat the dinner that either Jaskier or Yennefer would provide and settle into bed with a good novel. Knowing she was safe and tucked away gave Jaskier the time and peace of mind to go off downstairs to perform.

He was on his way to do just that when the young princess cleared her throat and sat up, looking between the bard and the witch. “Will Geralt be returning?” She asked. Her voice was quiet, as though she wasn’t certain whether or not they would be displeased by the question she posed. Jaskier glanced at the witch and was surprised to see that she was looking at him, as well. 

Something had shifted though. Jaskier had to admit. When Geralt left again. Something had been severed between him and Yennefer. She no longer seemed to believe that she knew what the witcher could do and when he would do it. There seemed to be a rift between them Jaskier had never expected to see. Jaskier often wondered if it saddened her. That Geralt was finally capable of leaving her behind as well. He never asked though. He’d assumed that it was hardly his business. There was too much damage between them for him to be someone she confided in. 

But Yennefer did seem to try to close the gap between herself and Jaskier.

It was bewildering.

In many ways the witch was very similar to the witcher. Though she used more words, her voice was often used to insult. Her comments were sharp and snide and all too familiar in the way they jabbed at his abilities and his passions. She rarely expressed sentiment, but when she did it was through actions rather than words. She was soft with Cirilla. She treated the girl well and despite all of his frustrations with her . . . she did the same for Jaskier. When he was ill she took care of him, when he was tired she stayed up so that he could sleep. It was an odd dynamic to become accustomed to. With Yennefer no less. But it was, in fact- nice. To be at peace with her, rather than at odds. To know that she’d grown to trust and care for him. 

He did have his doubts. The way he did with Ciri. The way he should have with Geralt. He doubted the sincerity behind the tenderness in her expressions. However, Jaskier did come to realize that there was no way that the witch would have let him alone with her princess if she didn’t hold him in high regards. It was that realization that started to mend the bridge between them. The bridge Jaskier understood that he was partially responsible for having broken down.

“Ciri . . . “ Yennefer began, looking helpless in a way a woman with power like she had never should.

Jaskier smiled softly, walking over to the bed. He sat at the foot of it while Yennefer sat against the headboard with the young woman. Jaskier spoke softly. “Geralt feels a need to protect. When he is not actively fighting for the world he feels . . . poorly.” He explained.

Yennefer seemed to catch on, “He is probably out there now, slaying the monsters threatening violence. Protecting people from the type of horrors we went through.” She added. 

The two adults shared a look once again. This time there was no denying. They may not always like each other, but they had grown to be family. They needed one another. If Jaskier had been a tad less sober, he probably would have admitted that there was a love between them that he had never thought possible.

And perhaps Ciri could see it too, for she seemed comforted by the explanation. Comforted enough to lean into Yennefer’s side and look at Jaskier sleepily. “Sing?” She asked.

His heart skipped. And with warmth in his chest . . . Jaskier sang.

_ “It’s what my heart just yearns to say _

_ In ways that can’t be said _

_ It’s what my rotting bones will sing _

_ When the rest of me is dead” _ He said and then faltered under the slightly annoyed expression Yennefer had shot at him. Irritation to disguise concern. Regardless, he agrees that perhaps singing about his own death was not well advised at this time. He quickly tried to make up for his remarks. He smiled softly, “I may not live forever the way the others will. But you need only sing my songs to keep me alive.” He promised, hoping to wipe the worry off of both Ciri and Yennefer’s faces. 

Ciri saved him the moment when, with a tilted head, she spoke, “But- I’ve not heard this song.”

“Well- yes. It’s still . . . being written. I've finished the lyrics, but not the tune.” He admitted and laughed almost sheepishly. Almost, because sheepish was not an adjective one easily used while describing the bard. “Is that alright, princess? I did not want to bore you with a tune you’ve heard before.” He explained. 

The young woman smiled, “Your songs never bore me. No matter how many times I’ve heard them.” She assured him. “What story does this song tell?” 

“It’s a love story.” Jaskier said softly. That caught Yennefer’s attention and she glanced up from the princess and over to the bard. Jaskier did his best not to mind her gaze. 

_ “It’s what’s engraved upon my heart _

_ In letters deeply worn” _ He sang, crossing his legs beneath him and observing as Yennefer’s nimble fingers danced soothing figures on the skin above Ciri’s brow.

_ “Today I somehow understand the reason I was born,”  _ He hummed. For as he had written the words to tell this story, Jaskier did understand his place. Jaskier was born to tell the stories of loves as powerful and beautiful as the one Ciri’s make-shift parents had for one another. He continued to strum, and gently nudged Ciri’s foot. The young woman smiled and nudged him back, but Jaskier could see sleep pulling her eyes down. He strummed on for a few moments and started to fall quiet. With Ciri asleep he would often find it best to give Yennefer space to rest as well. However, as he started to slow Yennefer held her hand up. “Continue, for me.” She requested.

Jaskier couldn’t help but smile, something so genuine hidden behind his attempt to seem unbothered. The request filled his chest with warmth, and he was glad that the next few lines were about none other than Yennefer and himself.  _ “Cos outwardly he says I try so hard to make you laugh at me, and”  _ He crooned, because Ciri never looked quite so elated as when Yennefer was smiling. Jaskier could not help but let that inspire him to try as often as he could to make Yennefer laugh. It was rare, but _ “she, she does, she laughs as though she has not heard the joke ten thousand times before.” _

Yennefer was far more expressive and observant than the witcher, and at the commentary she smiled. She let her eyes close as she too leaned back against the headboard to rest. This vulnerability made him hesitate. For the song shifted now. It began to be about her and Geralt. He isn't certain that she'd like to hear it and Jaskier almost ends there . . . but something pushes the next lyrics out of him without his consent. It is not within his control to stop himself from admitting,  _ “And he adores her, he watches her get dressed as though she’s hurtling through time . . . Oh darling please be mine.” _

The line is about Geralt, but it is no longer tinged with the jealousy it was written out of. It is sung with understanding. It is sung with admiration. 

The way the corners of Yennefer’s mouth pull down tells Jaskier quite clearly that she knows who it is about. She knows but is undecided whether or not that is a story she'd like to listen to. Still. Despite his own worries, Jaskier doesn’t want the frown. Doesn't want her to think it ends there. So he continues.  _ “She promises to fight them all when it all becomes too much,” _ because Yennefer had shown that. She had shown that despite her temper she would fight for Geralt and the family they had together. Jaskier was very proud to admit that he was a part of her family. The frown shifts into something less unpleasant. She is not convinced, but she is listening. 

Jaskier wavers. 

He wavers because he feels he might be revealing more than he should. Letting out observations about her witcher, that her witcher might not have been ready to reveal. But she deserves this. Deserves the truth.  _ “And he, he curses at the world for leaving him behind and he’s falling out of touch,” _ he sings, because Jaskier knows that Geralt would not have left if he didn’t think that Yennefer could keep Ciri safe. He wrote these lines because he knew the guilt Geralt must have felt. Leaving behind his daughter to face- whatever it was he had to face. He fears he is betraying Geralt’s confidence by stating this out loud. “ _ And she is stronger than he’s ever been, he knows,” _ he breathes, because Jaskier knows that Geralt does not seem himself as worthy of Yennefer. Judging by the way she opens her eyes and looks up at the bard, Yennefer did not know this. He feels a guilt bud in his stomach. He needs to relieve the tension.

_ “And she brushes her hand through his hair, he’s got so much fucking hair” _ He reminds her of a soft moment she must have shared with Geralt. It's meant to be a gentle reminder of the good they shared. A silent request that she not be angry with Geralt for having left.

_ “And he holds her close just to keep the world at bay _

_ And when they’re sure no-one can hear them”  _ Yennefer stares at Jaskier and he wonders if she’s trying to read his mind. Perhaps she’s trying not to. It doesn’t matter much, what he means is evident. They found a peace in each other they couldn’t find elsewhere. In one another, Yennefer and Geralt had a life of love and calm. A life without hurt. 

Or rather they had found that.

Before the mountain. Before it all broke apart. 

Jaskier wonders if she knows that it broke Jaskier apart as well.

_ “She’ll turn to him to say, she’ll turn to him and say _

_ It’s not fair, It’s not fair how much I love you _

_ It’s not fair, cos you make me laugh when I’m actually really fucking cross at you for something” _ Jaskier sings the lines and does not notice that Yennefer reads them for what they are. His words hold up like a mirror. They were quite the depiction of the way Yennefer hated that she and Geralt had been sucked into one another. She hated it even more that it wasn’t by choice. Felt manipulated and cheated into a love she wasn’t prepared for. It simply wasn’t fair for Geralt to make her love him.

At the same time, the hurt behind the lyrics reflected not only Yennefer’s own pain but the bard’s as well. For she was forced to care for Geralt, never to know whether she would have without the Djinn, but Jaskier? Jaskier had fallen hard and fast with no aid at all. He had no one to blame for the pain but himself. He had no spell or guise to criticize. He simply saw Geralt as the witcher was, and despite it all- Jaskier loved him. Jaskier loved him deeply and it was not returned. It felt so unfair.

_ “And he’ll say _

_ Oh how oh how unreasonable _

_ How unreasonably in love I am with everything you do” _ Jaskier sang. He had closed his eyes. 

_ “I’ll spend my days so close to you cos if I’m standing here maybe everyone will think I’m alright.”  _ He fell quiet. The biggest secret he had shared yet. That Geralt leaving was evidence of greater worry than Jaskier had been prepared to address. His fingers fumbled and his chest ached and Yennefer shared with him the understanding. Neither of them knew whether or not Geralt would return, and it was in that uncertainty that Jaskier had concluded his song.

In the silence, Yennefer stared at Jaskier as if searching for something. When she finally spoke, Jaskier wasn’t sure he understood. “Continue it, for you.”

He cocked his head and frowned, “What?”

“You said it was a love story.” She explained. Unhelpfully, Jaskier might add. 

"It was. But that is all I wrote." He said, still unsure. "That was the end."

"How could it be?" She inquired, looking at Jaskier with intent he did not recognize. 

"I'm sorry?" He begged her pardon. 

"It cannot be the end." She claimed. His expression remained the same confusion and she rolled her eyes at him, though there was something soft in her look. “You said it was a love story, but you’ve left out a crucial part.”

“Oh?” He asked tiredly, holding his lute tight.

Yennefer nodded. “You.”

Jaskier paused at that. The song had ended there. That was what he’d written so far, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever planned on continuing it . . . it felt dangerous to bring his own feelings into this balad. It felt impossible to include himself without undermining one side or the other. 

Yennefer sat. Waited. Her gaze was unwavering. Her face did not leave room for negotiating. She had asked him to sing.

His heart skipped . . . but Jaskier sang.

_ “I’ve seen enough he says I know exactly what I want _

_ And it’s this life that we’ve created, inundated with the fated thought of you” _ He almost laughs at the mention of fate. Yennefer does laugh, but it’s soft.

_ “And if you asked me to, if you asked me I would lose it all _

_ Like petals in a storm, cos darling,”  _ He sings to Yennefer and her expression is unreadable. Yet, it doesn’t matter. He’s not paying her much mind anyway. He’s losing himself in the song he sings and daring to wish that he was not meant to sing their tale, but to be part of it.

_ “I was born _

_ To press my head between your shoulder blades at night when light is fading _

_ Just to let you know I’m old, waylaid and feels like I am wading into _

_ carpet burns and carousels oh Christ you’ll be the death of me”  _ He knows that he is not made to keep up with the likes of the lovers in his song. He realizes though, that he would gladly give his life to continue at their sides. 

He wishes that Geralt would return. That he would return with an understanding of the song Jaskier had sung to him. Jaskier considers wishing that Geralt could hear this song as well. He thinks, perhaps, if Geralt heard this song he would find the same sentiments in himself,  _ “And calm throughout his melodrama she will turn and say ‘dear heart It’s me, its me” _ and this time Geralt is the woman in the tale. In Jaskier's wishes, Geralt is soft with him as well. A song is enough to repair what they'd broken. 

Perhaps if he heard this song, he would be able to accept Jaskier for all of his flaws.

_ “You don’t need to pretend to be someone you’re not, _

_ Cos it’s not like I’ve never heard you fart and snore” _

Perhaps he’d forgive Jaskier for being so unbelievably and inconveniently human.

_ “And for some god forsaken reason I’m still here love like I’ve always been before.” _

Jaskier wished to hear those words some day. He wished and opened his eyes, seeing Yennefer before him. He wondered why her expression was so . . . Sad. He wondered until he looked down to see tears on his lute and realized that his face was wet. 

He was crying.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Since that night, Jaskier couldn't stop thinking about how he hadn’t finished the song. Yennefer had been kind. She had not taunted him for weeping. She reached out to wipe the tears from his face and laid him down beside Ciri. She took the makeshift bed, in favor of allowing Jaskier the slight comfort of company. A heartbeat to feel beside his own as he slept. 

Still. As he went about his days he realized how unfinished his song was. He realized that he hadn’t the faintest of ideas how to finish it either. He would begin,  _ “And he’ll say,” _ but Jaskier didn’t know who ‘he’ was. ‘He’ would say, _ ‘’It’s not fair, It's not fair how much I love you.”  _ But Jaskier could not decide who was saying that, or to whom they were speaking to. Was the song to be finished about him and Geralt? Was it meant to end in Yennefer and Geralt mending their relationship? Was it both? Perhaps it was neither, and did it matter either way? Geralt was not here. What good was it to finish a song meant for someone who would never hear it? He tried to convince himself it was insignificant. That it didn’t need to be finished.

However, the song did not stop pestering him. Since that night, he found himself- emotional. It seemed as though starting to tell his story and not being able to finish it had opened the floodgates just enough that he couldn’t close them again. He found himself wallowing in the most unexpected of times. When he was on stage, singing a rousing tune. He found his eyes damp, as his mind unnecessarily reminded him of the adventures he and Geralt had gone on together. When he went to fetch dinner, grabbing carrots from the market. He missed roach, and the times he had to spoil the horse while Geralt wasn’t looking. Hell, when he went to the inn’s business room to sit and wait for his pay for the week. He would sit in the office and observe the innkeeper and his assistant, snacking on whatever they gave him while he waited. He would sit there and be thinking of the ridiculous business advice Geralt always insisted on giving him. He would sit there and be sad that Geralt wasn't there to give it to him now.  _ “It’s not fair cos you make me weep when I’m just trying to watch the office with my yoghurt.” _

With things so up in the air it felt wrong to conclude a love ballad on himself and Geralt. Geralt was not in love with him. Never had been. For the same reason he didn’t know how to end it with Yennefer and Geralt.

_ “And she’ll say _

_ Oh how, oh how unreasonable _

_ How unreasonably in love I am with everything you do” _

Only when those words came to his mind, they were without the romantic connotation a love ballad should contain. Yennefer truly believed her affections for Geralt to be unreasonable. She even feared that they were not real. With the relationship that Jaskier had formed with the witch, it felt like a betrayal to romanticise that fear with lovely synonyms and a flowing melody.

And it shouldn’t fucking matter because Geralt was gone. 

_ “I’ll spend my days so close to you  _

_ cos if I’m standing next to you then maybe everyone will think I’m cool.” _

Geralt was gone because he could no longer hide his hurt. 

He was gone and Jaskier truly didn’t know whether or not he was going to return. So this song really ought to just end with:  _ “How unfair.” _

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Geralt walked into the tavern, his appearance ragged, his expression unwelcoming. He was not looking for trouble, but he was not in a patient mood. This had not gone as planned. Any of this. He was supposed to be gone for a day. Two, at most. He had never intended to to be away from Cirilla for as long as he had been. He had never meant to leave Yennefer to fend for herself with his child surprise. 

He hadn’t meant to leave Jaskier.

What had he been supposed to do? The bard singing so freely, so blatantly, with an audience, no less. Jaskier had been putting to music thoughts that were deep and intimate. Some of which were about Geralt. How was Geralt supposed to have responded to that song. That- confession. After all they had been through. After all that Geralt had put him through. It wasn’t fair that the bard still felt so strongly for the witcher. It didn’t make sense that he would be so accommodating to the haphazard family Geralt forced back into his life. 

Geralt had been realizing how many things he had forced. Since the mountain, Geralt had had to face more of his own decisions than he had been prepared to. Nothing hit him harder than realizing the cruelty of what he’d done to Yennefer. As someone whose will was taken away with magic, he should have known. He should have understood the treachery he’d committed with his wish. He should have understood her anger and reflected upon it. He should not have aimed it at Jaskier.

Fuck.

Jaskier.

Geralt didn’t even know how to face Jaskier.

When he left he had planned to just take a walk. A walk turned into a trek, and before he knew it he was across the town and heading into the next one. He didn’t have Roach. He’d always planned on returning within a day or two but then shit happened. 

Bad shit with a monster that was not too friendly. 

Despite everything he had to return to . . . Geralt couldn’t ignore the plea of the young woman who asked for his help. He liked to imagine himself stronger and harder than this, but the lack of payment and messy job well done said that he had yet to grow completely cold. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice blamed it all on the influences he’d been surrounding himself with. The young woman had the soft demeanor and blonde hair of Ciri. Geralt knew that he had the power and ability to protect her, and Yennefer’s weakness for those in need convinced him to help . . . But it was Jaskier’s heart. His kindness and praise that had Geralt turning away the bag of coin the young woman tried to give him. It was clearly everything she had saved, and she looked so relieved to simply have his help that it meant nothing to her to lose her savings. With Jaskier ever present in the back of his mind, Geralt could not stop himself from tucking it back into her pack before he departed. 

As he made his way back to the others Geralt felt something he had not in a very long time.

Nervous.

These three people were everything to him now. He didn’t know why, or how. How had he allowed himself to care so much for people other than himself? How could he care for them so strongly when he struggled to care for himself? How could he expect them to care for him when he had failed them so many times before?

Nervous.

Geralt hadn't even realized he was still capable of feeling that way. Of course, he has his bouts of adrenaline. He'd dealt with crashes afterwards. He was familiar with knowing danger was present, and he was skilled at operating despite that knowledge but this was a different feeling. 

Nervous. 

Not scared. Not desperate. Not worried. He didn't fear for the safety of the people he'd grown to care for. He was very used to the feeling that he would have to put himself between them and the danger they got themselves into. He didn't particularly enjoy that feeling, as he knew that those situations could end with his death. Still. This feeling was different. Worse. 

Nervous. 

This time it wasn't up to him. The outcome didn't depend on his skill or perseverance. There was no way to save them from what he had already done. This time all he could do was admit fault. Apologize. Pray that they forgive him, even if he knew they didn't have to. Even if he doubted whether they should. So, yeah. He was incredibly:

Nervous. 

He felt almost unwell as he entered the tavern, knowing that he would have to face others. Knowing he would see Jaskier when he entered.

He was admittedly quite surprised to see not one, but all three of his companions.

He would never know how it occurred that Jaskier convinced Yennefer up on a stage with him, but there she was. She sat on a stool beside where he stood with his lute. Ciri sat at a table in the corner, watching them with adoration in her eyes. It may only have been a couple weeks, but she already looked as though she’d grown. She looked happier. 

Geralt looked at the pair on stage, Jaskier was looking at Yennefer with an expression of- love? Admiration? Not of her power, but of her presence alone did Jaskier seem in awe of.

He sang,  _ “How unfair they’ll sing as they dance across the darling rooftop wreck _

_ He’ll trip and she’ll pretend not to have seen, _

_ Burying her head into his chest and clinging to the moment, _

Then, to Geralt’s surprise, Yennefer sang as well.

_ “‘Where have you been?’ _

_ She’ll whisper ‘I’ve waited oh so long for you to come’,”  _ Yennefer’s voice was sultry and low, it held as much passion and emotion as her expression did. 

Geralt could not take his eyes off of them. He wished to look away, perhaps to hide before they saw him. If he could get to the room before they finished he could buy himself a bit more time to think of words. He assumed he would need to say something. He didn’t know what, but yes, words would be helpful. As would time to come up with them. And yet. He stood there, hearing the two sing together.  _ “And as the stars above them hum and hear them he’ll turn to her and say ‘that’s what she said’”  _ When their voices joined, they melted together like the treats of coco and caramel that Ciri so loved.

Geralt could neither think, nor move as he observed.

_ “It’s not fair, it's not fair how much I love you _

_ It’s not fair cos you make me ache you bastard _

_ And she’ll say _

_ Oh how, oh how unreasonable _

_ How unreasonably in love I am with everything you do _

_ I’ll spend my days so close to you cos if I’m stood here _

_ Then I’m stood here _

_ And I’ll stand here _

_ I’ll stand here with you.” _

The song was finished.

The tavern applauded.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jaskier could have sworn that he had seen white hair. That someone in the crowd that looked like- No. It couldn’t have been. He shifted his attention back to his own company. They finished their set and with a kiss to her forehead he sent Ciri back to their room. With a kiss to his forehead Yennefer bid him a goodnight and retreated to their room for the night. Jaskier stayed down to grab a drink and relax after the performance.

He walked up to the bar, and the bartender turned to him, setting down his mug. He arched his brow and looked up at the bartender with a facade of seduction, “You remembered my usual?” He winked. The bartender, however, looked very unimpressed. 

“No. He did.” He said, gesturing down the bar to . . . 

“Holy shit.” Jaskier breathed, tracking Geralt’s every move as the witcher walked up and sat beside him. “You’re back.” He whispered.

Geralt nodded slowly. “Could we- go somewhere more private?” He asked, his voice was hoarse. “I would like to talk to you.”

“Oh, you would like to, would you?” Jaskier asked incredulously. 

Geralt sighed. “I need to.” He said. Jaskier was ready to tell him exactly what he  _ needed _ to do, but then he added, “Please?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on "Fair" by The Amazing Devil. (It's on their new album "The Horror and The Wild", pls go buy it. It's so fucking good.)


	4. Farewell Wanderlust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the first time in a long time . . . Jaskier felt genuinely angry. 
> 
> Even in the heat of things. On the mountain. As Jaskier traveled on. When the three showed up to his tavern afterwards. Not once did Jaskier let his pain, hurt, and anger manifest into something so consuming as what he was feeling when he saw Geralt again. The anger was there, but it was always so subdued by the thankfulness. That they were safe. The two voices had fought, but ultimately the second one had always won. He could not be angry that this family had returned to him.
> 
> And then Geralt left again. 
> 
> It shocked him. It shocked Jaskier that he was capable of that much fury.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pls comment. It feeds my desire to upload what else I have written. Compliments are appreciated, but any kinda comment will do tbh.
> 
> Also. Forgive me.

He imagined this would make for a wonderful song.

Full of drama.

Full of passion.

By this point, Jaskier had already written songs about all parties involved. Tales of love and battle and triumph. Songs about Ciri. Yennefer. Himself.

Geralt.

Fucking Geralt.

Who was looking at Jaskier as though he was the one who had disappeared into the night with no word. Who was looking at Jaskier like Jaskier had listened to him bare his heart and then left. 

Geralt had left.

For the first time in a long time . . . Jaskier felt genuinely angry. 

Even in the heat of things. On the mountain. As Jaskier travelled on. When the three showed up to his tavern afterwards. Not once did Jaskier let his pain, hurt, and anger manifest into something so consuming as what he was feeling when he saw Geralt again. The anger was there, but it was always so subdued by the thankfulness. That they were safe. The two voices had fought, but ultimately the second one had always won. He could not be angry that this family had returned to him.

And then Geralt left again. 

It shocked him. It shocked Jaskier that he was capable of that much fury.

And then Geralt said please, and it shocked Jaskier further that that didn’t change anything. He was still angry. 

Jaskier stared at the witcher, and he realized many things. Mainly, that he had changed. A lot. 

When Jaskier and Geralt first met, Jaskier was incredibly ready for adventure. He was young, and hopeful. He’d had his first love and it was not a man or woman around. His first love was music and the things it could stir in him. The passion and heat, the sorrow and pain. He was romantic and the language of his love was song. Melodies flirted through his brain, distracting him from reality the way a young lover would. Yes, he loved so deeply the tunes he made, but he was also close minded. He thought a melody and accompaniment was all he needed to write a moving tune. When Jaskier and Geralt first met, Jaskier wore the rose colored glasses applause from an audience had placed before his eyes.

As they travelled, Jaskier grew. He didn’t change. Not quite. His life was still lived for love, and the stem of that love was still music. However, his capacity did shift. He began to care for more than just the love of a melody. The details of the tales wrote harmonies he couldn’t have dreamt up before. Living the adventures he’d fallen in love with changed him. He saw the tragedy which turned a tune from major to minor and slowed its rhythm. He experienced the joy in tales of sorrow that laced the final verse with hope otherwise unheard. He didn’t lose his love, but he gained perspective. If anything, he fell deeper in love with a much truer song.

A song that sounded a lot like . . . Geralt. The bastard.

He should have seen it coming, and at some point he supposed that he had. And, yet? He was caught off guard every time he heard the music from his traveling partner. The witcher in all of his subtly should have created a somber song. He should have been a haunting and simple melody. A siren’s caution flowing in the wind. Entrancing you to come closer, all the while knowing that it is the last song you’ll follow. Jaskier should have known, chasing after Geralt’s music that it was the kind of song that lulled you to sleep but simultaneously played as the music to your night terrors . . . but it never did sound that way.

No. Geralt and all of his adventures sounded like a ballad of adoration to a broken world. A poem of promises. To fix what destiny kept insisting stayed broken. Geralt’s movements were soft. Subtle. Like a flute whistling quietly into the evening. His battles played the percussive, bum-bum of a heartbeat like a drum. As they grew harsher, the beat did speed up. As he won over and over again, the beats were dramatic. Triumphant. There was beauty in the rasp and acoustic melody of the witcher’s voice. A finely tuned guitar played with skillful hands. It was never used too much. Not a word, not a strum, out of tune. Geralt should have been a ghouls deep howl set to a broken harp, and instead he was a symphony. A masterpiece composed by a maestro. 

Oh, how Jaskier had longed to hear it again. After the mountain. It was all that Jaskier had longed for.

Sitting here, now? There was no music but that in Jaskier’s own mind.

Geralt was the deafening silence of a rest.

But my, how this would have made a good song.

“Jask?” 

Jaskier stared at the witcher. 

“No.” He breathed.

Geralt looked down, and the ballad came to Jaskier.

_ “You look like I need a drink he winked as he slipped from my grasp to the bar” _

He could have sung. If not for the anger in his soul. If not for the presence of the witcher.

_ “And you are?” _ Jaskier wanted to ask.

“No.” Geralt repeated. The witcher sounded uncomfortable. As though he hadn’t expected Jaskier to be capable of using such a word on him. It made Jaskier even angrier.  _ “He said ‘me? Me. Little me? Little me,” _ the lyrics would write. Who was Geralt to play the innocent one here? Who was Geralt to behave like he didn’t know that Jaskier had been so ready. 

If  _ “He called” _ Jaskier had been there. And Geralt had called. _ “He called from the brink of the day,” _ and with no regard for himself Jaskier had followed that call. That call that reached him like an orchestra.

Was it intentional? Has Geralt known that if only  _ “He said hey darling hey /hey darling hey”  _ Jaskier would come traipsing after him like a lost puppy? Was every adventure Geralt brought Jaskier on a quiet ridicule? Every time Geralt showed him the softest of affections, was it intended to be a taunting _ “I’m the hardest goodbye that you’ll ever have to say” _ ?

“You don’t have to talk to me. This is not me requesting forgiveness. Just- I am just asking that you lend an ear. So, I can explain things.” Geralt said. To Jaskier’s unending surprise, he did not feel swayed by the vulnerability. He did not disregard Geralt’s feelings. He would not be insulting. He would not be unnecessarily cruel. It was a regard for Geralt’s feelings that inspired Jaskier not to hide his anger. Not to placate the witcher and make him believe that everything was fine when it so completely was not. Jaskier refused to be a pebble in Geralt’s shoe. Would not continue to be an irritation, too difficult to remove while continuing to move forward when you wanted so badly not to stop. 

“You’ve nothing to explain.” He said in return. “Not to me. It’s Yennefer you need to fix things with. She is the one you betrayed.”

“But-” Geralt began.

Jaskier shook his head, unwilling to hear lies disguised as comfort. “No. You made it quite clear. I didn't mean to you much more than a pet. Knowing your undying commitment to Roach, I would guess less than. I should not have let myself believe in you. If I hadn’t put trust where it didn’t belong, I wouldn’t have been betrayed. That is on me.”

“Hmm.” Geralt said, his brow pinched slightly. He opened his mouth and Jaskier lifted a hand. 

“Yennefer.” He said. Geralt did not have an excellent track record of listening to Jaskier or following the bards advice, but Jaskier knew that it would do both the witch and the witcher some good to air out their grievances. Yennefer had already begun to understand, after what Jaskier had explained to her. Though Geralt didn’t know that. _ “You don’t know it yet, but I’m the cupid of things, That you just didn’t get, that you struggled to say.”  _ Perhaps a conversation would move them towards a passion unprovoked by magic. 

A passion that Jaskier was not included in.  _ “I’m the saint of the paint that was left in the pot, I’m your angel ellipsis, your devil of dots.” _

It would have been an amazing ballad.

“Jaskier.” Geralt said, his tone slightly harsher. Jaskier came back from his thoughts and looked up to the witcher. His expression did not give. Only a quirked eyebrow showed that he was listening. The witcher seemed to squirm ever so slightly on his barstool. He almost seemed- nervous. Jaskier found the irony humorous.  _ “Every time that you fumble, I’m the laugh from the back.”  _ Geralt took a deep breath. “Please. Let me- say a few things. In private. And if you’re still angry with me afterwards I will . . . well. I cannot leave. I won’t. Again. But I can give you some space.” He said.

It was more words out of Geralt’s mouth consecutively than Jaskier had ever heard. For the briefest of moments his anger wavered at the idea of an open, vulnerable Geralt, sharing his feelings with Jaskier.  _ “When you think about him, my wings start to flap,” _ However, recalling that Geralt’s infuriating idiocy was what got them into this position made Jaskier’s anger return. Geralt could have had this conversation that night. They could have spoken. They should have spoken. Instead, Geralt had left. Even while Jaskier grew accustomed to his absence, began to find comfort in their lives here- he hadn’t been able to stop himself from wondering. Did Geralt still wake in the middle of the night? Did he wish that Jaskier was there to sing him lullabies about pirates? Jaskier couldn’t help but wonder, and then grow angry that he still cared.  _ “When you make a mistake, my feet lift from the floor . . . And when you lie there awake every night love, I soar.” _

He had gotten better. He’d been doing better.

And then Geralt had fucking returned.

Anger raging, Jaskier stood and huffed. He turned and stalked outside of the tavern. 

Geralt followed.

“You may have an eternity to live, but I don’t. If you’re speaking, speak quickly.” Jaskier stated, continuing to walk. If he were to stop and pay more mind to Geralt, he may very well reach up and punch the idiot bastard in the face. 

Geralt cleared his throat, “Hmm.” He hummed, slightly discontent at Jaskier’s tone. 

Jaskier found that he didn’t care.

“I shouldn’t have left.” Geralt said softly, matching Jaskier’s brisk pace with ease.

Jaskier could have laughed. “Oh, now, there is a song I’ve heard before. Can’t say I much appreciated the chorus. It left me disappointed.” Geralt had left him. Jaskier had been disappointed. 

Geralt nodded ever so slightly. “I did not intend to . . . cause you pain.” He admitted. “If I could change that I did . . . I would. But I cannot.” Geralt said and glanced over at Jaskier’s unmoving expression. “I can promise that I- have learned. That I will exercise better restraint. I will- hold my tongue . . . and stay. Jaskier. I promise. I will not leave, or ask you to. Ever again.”

_ “I promise you I’ll be better _

_ I promise you I’ll try”  _ The lyrics forced themselves into Jaskier’s mind. He didn’t want them. He didn’t want to write from Geralt’s point of view. He would write about the witcher. To get it all out. To rid himself of the feelings. He would write of the witcher’s passions as he observed them, so that the subject of those passions knew. He would write of Geralt while sipping on the finest wine he could afford. He would write of Geralt as he spilled said wine and tried to clean it so the innkeeper would hate him a bit less. He would wax poetic,  _ “But like rubbing wine stains into rugs it’s my curse . . . To try and make it right, but by trying make it worse” _ using his lyrics to describe how he wished that Geralt would return and grovel for his forgiveness the way he was now. Jaskier would write of all of this, but he did not wish to think of these lines while Geralt spoke. 

If he thought of them. It was much too close to hearing the music from the witcher once again. If he heard that music once more, he was quite afraid he would give in. 

And, yet?

“I didn’t know what to say. Or do. That night. In the tavern. I was . . . uncertain.” The witcher admitted.

“Hmm,” was all the response Geralt received.

The witcher gently grabbed Jaskier’s arm. Despite his annoyance, Jaskier had to acknowledge and appreciate that the hold was loose. If Jaskier wished to pull away, he could. Instead, he stopped. Though he did not turn to the other. They had reached the outskirts of town and found themselves on a small bridge that led into the woods. Jaskier huffed slightly and leaned against the railing. Geralt took that as an invitation to continue. 

“On the mountain . . . “ The witcher began again. Jaskier tensed and stared at the ground, jaw askew as he bit his tongue. Geralt stepped back, giving him more space. “I was hurt. In a way- I forgot I was able to be.” Geralt admitted, “I was caught off guard by the hurt. Overwhelmed by what I was feeling. I said things.”

Jaskier scoffed. “Things.”

“Yes.” Geralt said and took a deep breath. “I said things to you that never should have been said.”

“Listen, Geralt-” Jasker started and Geralt held his hand up this time. 

“Please.” He requested softly. “Let me talk.” 

Jaskier fell silent, still staring at the old wood of the bridge. 

“I should not have said them, because they were not true. They never have been. They are not now. And I very sincerely doubt they ever will be.” Geralt said. “In the heat of my uncertainty I said what would make you leave . . . that night at the tavern I was overwhelmed again. I was- concerned. That I might say things . . . again.” He said. “I thought it best to say nothing at all.”

_ “I’m the heartbreak that aches far too much to be shown _

_ All those letters unsent and that garden ungrown” _ Jaskier’s mind unhelpfully, considered. 

In an odd turn of events, Jaskier had become the brave one. 

_ “I’m the captain of courage you’ve eternally lacked _

_ I’m the Jesus of wishing to Christ he’ll come back.” _

But Geralt had returned. He had returned, and he was apologizing. So, why was Jaskier still so angry?

Jaskier breathed in slowly. He finally looked up at the witcher and found the witcher staring back at him. 

It hit Jaskier like a ton of bricks.

He was angry because Geralt had inspired him to change, but when he changed? It seemed he was no longer welcome.

He’d been so hopeful, love inspired, and optimistic. Loving Geralt, travelling with him took pieces of that away. 

He was angry that Yennefer had not asked to change. Geralt had forced that on her without her regard. When she left, Geralt hadn’t understood. But he should have.

Jaskier was angry that Ciri’s entire life had changed. He was fucking livid that the person she was supposed to find comfort in had run away.

He was furious that they were all supposed to be innocent. Happy. Full of aspirations and love. He was angry that they’d had to give that up.

_ “Farewell Wanderlust, you’ve been oh oh so kind” _ Ignorance had been so blissful.

_ “You brought me to this party but you left me here behind,” _ it was far from Geralt’s fault. He hadn’t made the world this way. 

_ “And so long to the person you begged me to be” _ The only thing Geralt had asked was for them to understand who they’d have to become to survive in the world they were in.

_ “She’s down. She’s dead.” _ The death of that ignorance was so integrated in their adventures with him that Jaskier had wanted Geralt to take up the responsibility of protecting them from it. Jaskier had wanted Geralt to be the person who took care of him, Yennefer, and Ciri. It seemed to be the roll he fit in. He was a witcher, after all.

_ “Instead what is left but this old satin dress and the mess that you left when you told me I wasn’t right in the head, _ ” who the hell was Jaskier to expect Geralt to defend them from all of the bad? Who the hell was Jaskier to add that to the list of responsibilities Geralt already had? 

Perhaps, Geralt should not have left.

Jaskier should not have required him to stay.

He took a breath. 

Nodded.

And turned back towards the tavern. “Ciri will be glad you’re home.” He breathed as he lead them back.

Jaskier didn’t know whether or not he forgave Geralt for leaving, but he did know that to decide that he could not place his fury with life at the feet of Geralt. Witcher he may be, he was still just a man.

“And, you?” Geralt asked. Jaskier could hear the hope in his voice.

Jaskier thought for a moment. “I am not angry with you.” He said honestly, but left it there.

“Hmm.”

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was quite a startling realization to have found that you’ve been burdened with a seething anger towards life. It quite upset the manner in which Jaskier thought of himself. He started to see that others saw it too. 

_ “You alright? ask the boys from beyond _

_ You gave us such a fright,”  _

The people who often came to see him sing regarded him with concern.

_ “We’d hate to see your mascara drip into your pint,” _

They sounded taunting. It wasn’t intentional. Jaskier knew that. Still. He heard their words and rather than feel loved he felt observed. Like a broken vase turned into art for those to gawk at. He saw the way that Yennefer was cautious around him. Noticed that she held her biting wit within, rather than letting him have it. He noticed that Ciri regarded him with concern. That she played her flute more often, and always looked to see if it made Jaskier smile. 

He saw Geralt.

Geralt had spoken to Yennefer. Jaskier knew this because they were doing much, much better. They stood beside one another when Ciri dragged them to watch Jaskier’s performances. They conversed in hushed whispers of their plans for Ciri. They worked as a good team. With no magic to coerce either side, Jaskier saw something genuine begin between them. Geralt’s passion had not died, but his caution came to life. Yennefer’s flame of distrust burned out to a simmer and the affection the spell had exaggerated began to grow on it’s own. If Jaskier weren’t so goddamn angry all the time he would have been proud. That they’d grown to be the kind of people they wanted each other to be.

However, he was angry. Jaskier tried to deflect. His songs remained risque,  _ “Might you allow me to slip into something more comfortable then? . . . Be our guest. With the hoik of her bra, she waved to the bar and she slipped into the night” _ his lyrics trying to entice his audience to believe his longing was for lust instead of peace. On nights when Geralt was in the crowd, Jaskier could see that the witcher heard straight through the lyrical facade. 

On some nights he didn’t even bother hiding it. His voice stayed quiet, his strumming harsh. He sang what he felt. 

_ “Come devil come, she sang, call out my name” _

He sang at destiny.

_ “Let’s take this outside cos we’re one and the same.” _

He challenged her authority. 

_ “Our god has abandoned us, left us, instead,” _

He accused her of working to her own accords.

_ “Take up arms, take my hand, let us waltz for the dead” _

He begged her to change her tune.

He sang to Geralt.

_ “I’m the face that stares back when the screen goes to black” _

Because even when they closed the black curtains to show that his set was over, Geralt was there. Watching. He was always watching Jaskier nowadays. Watching and just- thinking. 

Jaskier sang to his family.

_ “When your mum says ‘you look healthy’ but you know she means you got fat,” _

A family he hadn’t seen in a lifetime, who certainly would not approve of the one he had acquired. Lines to them surprised him. He hadn’t realized he was angry with them. 

But he was so angry. 

_ “I’m the tales that the guests will applaud and believe” _

Angry that people still applauded when he finished his sets.

_ “I’m the child that you just didn’t have time to conceive” _

Angry that he wouldn’t live forever the way his loved ones would.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was Ciri who finally asked. The young woman was the first to speak up. She, Yennefer, and Geralt sat in the back corner of the tavern listening to the bard sing. Yennefer was watching her. Geralt was watching him. Occasionally, the two would glance at each other. In a moment only familiar to one of them, Ciri cleared her throat. “Is Jaskier coming back?” She asked, voice quiet amongst the hum of the tavern.

Yennefer sat down beside her and Geralt’s eyes finally left the stage to look down at Ciri. He looked confused, as though he was about to assure that Jaskier wasn’t going anywhere. However, it dawned on them all that Jaskier hadn’t really been there for a long time. 

“You want an honest answer? Or do you want comfort?” Geralt asked her frankly. Yennefer huffed, but Ciri simply nodded.

“An honest one, please.” She requested.

Geralt faltered, looking for the words. Yennefer found them first. “I’m not sure you have really met Jaskier yet.” She said softly. “You’ve caught glimpses of him. Seen him through the cracks.”

“Mostly when he’s around you, actually.” Geralt acknowledged, looking thoughtful.

The three looked at the bard. His eyes were closed.

_ “I promise you I’m not broken _

_ I promise you there’s more _

_ More to come, more to reach for, more to hurl at the door” _

They looked at him. Heard his words and understood.

_ “Goodbye to all my darkness, there’s nothing here but light _

_ Adieu to all the faceless things that sleep with me at night _

_ This here isn’t make up, it’s a porcelain tomb _

_ This here is not singing, I’m just screaming in tune because” _

They understood that he wasn’t singing them in finality, but in heated bargain with life. He was not convinced even himself that he was alright. He was desperately trying to sing it into reality. 

“Was he himself when he was in love with you?” Ciri asked, her eyes on Geralt. Her innocence was evident. She couldn’t have understood the weight behind that question. 

Yennefer understood and gently brushed Ciri’s hair out of her face. “Cirilla. It is not that simple.” She said gently, but Geralt grunted.

Both of them looked at him to see that his gaze had returned to the bard. His expression was still. But it was still in a trained manner. Not in lack of emotion, but in uncertainty. He didn’t know how to show on his face what he was feeling. 

“Did he lose himself after you fell in love with him? Is that why you stopped?” The girl asked. 

Geralt’s stoic facade faltered. “I never stopped-” He began and then lowered his gaze. This was not a conversation he could have while Yennefer sat observing him. Not when they had finally reached an understanding. He did not want to rock the boat. Not any more than he already had.

If the realization on Yennefer’s face was anything to speak of- the boat was rocked. Geralt slowly looked at his witch. His expression held an apology he rarely found himself capable of voicing. Yennefer nodded ever so slightly. “You’ve never stopped.” She said.

Ciri looked between the adults with a curious expression. Geralt looked back down. “Hmm” He grunted his admission.

“But you love Yen.” Ciri commented quietly.

Geralt didn’t have to say a word. Yennefer spoke, tone rife with understanding. “He loves us both.” She said quietly. 

Geralt wanted nothing more than to leave. 

But he’d made a promise.

The three slowly looked up at Jaskier, watching him again in a new light. 

_ “Farewell Wanderlust, you’ve been oh oh so kind _

_ You brought me through this darkness but you left me here behind _

_ And so long to the person you begged me to be _

_ He’s down. He’s dead. _

_ Now take a long look at what you’ve done to me? _

_ He’s down, He’s dead _

_ He’s gone, He’s lost _

_ He’s flown, he’s fled _

_ Now take a good long look at what you've done to me.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on "Farewell Wanderlust" by The Amazing Devil, on their new album "The Horror and the Wild"
> 
> It's everything to me. 
> 
> Go buy it.


	5. Battle Cries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Admittedly, if this was an intervention, it was being held by the two people most likely to drive him to drink. 
> 
> So, he supposed, the humor was on them.
> 
> It was hard to laugh, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys have been pretty kind to me, I appreciate your comments!  
> Sorry that this is late, I meant to upload it yesterday. Shit's been going down though.  
> Still. Pls let me know how you guys feel about it all! I love to hear from you. <3

“I’m not drinking.” Jaskier said when he walked into their room. 

Now, that may sound unprompted, but rarely did he see two such serious expressions as the ones that Yennefer and Geralt were wearing when he entered. Short of the few times he’d stuck around places long enough for people to notice and grow concerned about his drinking habits. That only happened once or twice on his travels away from the mountain so many months ago. He never blamed them for it either. At that time he was definitely a bit less than pleasant to be around, and he had slightly too much to drink slightly too often. 

Admittedly, if this was an intervention, it was being held by the two people most likely to drive him to drink. 

So, he supposed, the humor was on them.

It was hard to laugh, though.

Geralt huffed a quiet. “Mhmm.” Which was one more syllable than Jaskier had been getting lately, so he wondered if he was supposed to be grateful. 

He had forgiven Geralt.

Or at least, he was fairly certain that he had.

That did not mean he was ready or interested to instigate casual conversation.

Yennefer was quiet. Which was far more unsettling.

He did still speak with her.

Jaskier squirmed, looking between the two as it hit him what this must be. They’d finally had enough.

He had noticed the way that they’d been watching him. Though he wasn’t sure exactly when they’d caught on, Jaskier saw it in their expressions as of lately. They too could see how angry he was. They could see how he struggled to understand his temper, how he struggled even more to control it. They could hear how he poured it into his music. They saw his change the same way that he had not a few weeks ago. 

And they did not want it around.

Who would?

It wasn’t like Jaskier liked this version of himself either. This version of himself that saw nothing but bad in the world. He didn’t like that when he looked around corners he didn’t see new friends, but dangerous strangers. He didn’t like that when he stood before an audience he thought of nothing but the way they forgot he was human. He didn’t like that he looked in the mirror and saw how he aged, resenting time itself for having a hold on him where it didn’t on others. He didn’t like that he saw the love, a true one this time, budding between his family and felt nothing but- alone. He hated that he felt so alone. 

If Yennefer and Geralt saw it too? They were right to want him to leave. 

They stared at him. 

Fuck.

“I’ll be gone in the morning.” He said, the weak facade he had managed to keep up crumbling tremendously.

Geralt frowned and stepped forward.

Jaskier stepped back. “Or tonight. I can be gone tonight.”

Geralt looked at Yennefer and the witch shook her head ever so slightly. “Jaskier.” She said, her voice surprisingly soft. “Do you want to leave?”

Jaskier looked at her, wondering if a trap laid beneath her question. If answering it might trigger a sharp shot into his chest like a rigged crossbow . . . ah. There again was that distrust. He tried, instead, to see this in better light. “No.” He admitted. “And if given the chance, I can do better.”

“Better than what?” Geralt asked him, looking at the bard.

Jaskier frowned. What? “Better than I have been.”

“Why?” The witcher asked.

Jaskier stared at him, almost incredulous in his confusion. If one of these two voiceless beings could just fucking  _ say _ what was going on. “Why, what?” He huffed.

Yennefer shook her head and stood as well. “Why do you think you need to be better? Why do you think you need to leave? Why did you write this?” She clarified.

And Jaskier froze. 

Why the fucking fuck was Yennefer holding papers from his fucking music book?

Papers he’d thrown away. 

They were too pathetic, no one would want to listen to them. 

“Where did you get those?” He breathed.

Geralt gestured to the fire. “You missed.” He said simply. 

He hated the looks that he was getting. That pity. That sorrow. Was precisely why he’d thrown away the papers to begin with. To avoid getting those looks from the people who came in and watched him perform. To avoid Geralt and Yennefer hearing it. Christ. To avoid it all.

_ “I’m at the brink, don’t laugh _

_ At the winks I’ve masked _

_ Who’ll save you when you fall?” _

Yennefer read the lyrics. Jaskier looked down. She didn’t sound judgemental, but she did look- sad. Sad was not a look Jaskier ever enjoyed seeing on Yennefer’s face. She was so strong. Stoic. Almost more so than Geralt. Geralt, who Jaskier was most definitely not looking at. Who he wouldn’t risk catching eyes with. “Are you? At the brink?”

“It’s a song.” Jaskier said plainly.

Geralt arched a brow, “And?”

“And it doesn’t mean anything.” He claimed. He heard Yennefer scoff.

They all knew. It was a request. A request to Geralt, not to scoff. Not to question when Jaskier brushed under the rug the things they’d discussed. Or rather. The things that Geralt had said. It was a simple verse, but it was a heavy request. For Geralt to continue to look away while Jaskier self destructed. A request made when he thought only Geralt knew him well enough to see the nature he was leaning towards. 

Geralt spoke next. His voice, despite it’s beautiful tone, read the words unnaturally. Unwillingly. It was evident that he neither liked the words he was reading, nor understood how such dark limericks could be turned into music.  _ “The wrinkles and bricks that we’re left with at last . . . And drink will fix all those questions unasked . . . Who died and made you king of it all.” _ Geralt was staring at Jaskier. He could feel it. He still stared at the ground. “This is about- Yen.” He said quietly. “And you.”

‘Well. Obviously.’ Jaskier wanted to retort. Jaskier was going to age. He was going to age until his body had nothing left to give and then he was going to die. He was going to be the only one of their family not to stay. It was only human of him to wish. To silently ask Yennefer, a powerful mage, to extend his life. He couldn’t be blamed for that. He couldn’t be blamed for not wanting to be left behind in the most ultimate of ways. 

His chest hurt.

Yennefer turned the page,  _ “Who wins this war?” _ She read, and Jaskier swallowed hard. It felt hard to breathe. The question had been rhetorical. No one. The answer was no one. He was fairly sure they all knew that no one ever wins in a war, because there was always too much loss. Jaskier couldn’t help but wonder. He wondered whether or not they alternated intentionally the way his verses did. One to Geralt. One to Yennefer. And again. Only as they read, they spoke each other’s verses.  _ “You’ve a knack, For applause from the back of the stalls . . . but you lack the conviction to look at me straight and say yes.”  _

It was no secret that Geralt often stood in the back of the tavern to watch Jaskier’s performances. From the back of the tavern they could see one another. Jaskier could see Geralt looking straight into his head. From the back of the tavern, Geralt could look so- sorrowful. He could seem so tempted to move forward. Jaskier could think he was moments away from coming forth and asking Jaskier away to talk again . . . but Geralt never did. From the back of the tavern, Jaskier knew that Geralt had to know that every song he sang was a desperate request for Geralt to do just that. 

Even now. He wondered if hearing Yennefer read the words urged Geralt to take Jaskier away from it all. 

He certainly wished he weren’t here.

That wish grew stronger as Geralt cleared his throat. 

_ “Now the wind is so warm on the back of my neck _

_ As I walk with the sun hand in hand from the wreck _

_ Some fictions we took to mean fate believe me I know” _

He had feared nothing more than seeing Yennefer’s face when he spoke of fate and tied 

it to her. It had seemed so true when he wrote the words. When they came to him. They had been soft. The briefest of breaks in the hurt on his heart as he realized that in all of this- he had gained something in Yennefer he’d never expected. He grew to love her. To find comfort in her touch. In her presence. He had written the verse with tears in his eyes at the relief it provided him so temporarily. The lifted anger replaced by the softest of sentiments. He realized that he was crying again as he heard the words from Geralt’s mouth. He realized he was shaking under the confrontation, hearing his words read back to him. He realized he was holding his breath, waiting for Yennefer to deny them.

She stepped closer. 

Jaskier’s hands slipped to his own stomach. It certainly would not help for him to vomit

over their shoes, but the urge was overwhelming.

He felt a gentle hand lift his chin, and when he found the courage to look up, his eyes met a beautiful violet. “It’s not done.” He whispered.

Yennefer nodded. “That’s good.” She assured him quietly.

“It’s just a song.” He breathed.

Geralt spoke gently, “You do not write words you don’t feel.” He said with a shocking amount of insight.

His fucking chest hurt.

“Jaskier.” Yennefer hummed. Jaskier looked at her, and she continued. “It is so tiring to be that angry all of the time.

He broke.

The witch pulled him close against her and he could not stop himself from burying his face against her neck. Despite the drama he usually possessed, his crying was quiet. So uncharacteristically so. He sobbed against her chest almost silently. 

He did not expect the warmth that encompassed his back, the pressure against him. He didn’t have to open his eyes to know that the witcher had also joined in the embrace. 

It was a long time before they broke apart.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He wouldn’t say things got better.

But they did stop getting worse. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jaskier stood in front of the tavern, he glanced up and saw Geralt watching him. Jaskier was singing the song that Geralt and Yennefer had found. He’d continued it. It was still primarily about his companions.

A verse about Geralt,  _ “Don’t be uncouth, be a man _

_ Don’t lie with your eyes, you know I despise that look _

_ You’re home. For God’s sake I’m-” _ A verse with an open ending because Jaskier had

never been able to put into words what he’d felt since Geralt came back. An open ending because as much as the verse was for Geralt, it was for himself as well. He could see into Geralt’s eyes. See past the neutrality that Geralt fronted. He could see past the facade, and so, it seemed, could Geralt. The witcher could look into Jaskier’s eyes and see into his soul. It was unsettling and they rarely addressed it, but it was simultaneously such a grand feeling. Especially as Jaskier returned to himself. As he came home as well.

_ “Tell the truth to me love, does my hair look as nice _

_ As it did when you once tied it up in your eyes? _ ” A verse for Yennefer. A dedication to

the growth that they’d made. To going from violent wishes to push and shove and pull one another’s hair, to living in harmony. It was not too long ago that rather than hear what Jaskier wished to say, Yennefer spoke on her own. It was not long ago that Jaskier tried to prove that Yennefer was not nearly as beautiful and powerful as she was. He claimed her a fake. Puffed his chest with exaggerated pride. She called out his bullshit. She called him phoney and looked through him.  _ “Look at me as you say this,” _ He would challenge her.  _ “Don’t look at your phone.” _

He looked up after the verse and met Geralt’s smile with a small one of his own. Yennefer would walk in as well, kiss Geralt on the cheek, look at Jaskier. 

His smile would falter.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He wrote a verse for Ciri.

_ “Done with your dreams, they won’t last” _

He didn’t want to fill her head with fantasies she could never have. Not when there were things she could want. Could pursue. Things that she could achieve. Ultimately, that would have to be becoming the kind of woman she wanted to be. Jaskier knew he wouldn’t be around to see that.

_ “Thirty winters will pass, you’ll look back _

_ At the woman fifty year old you will be proud to have known” _

He couldn’t decide whether or not she should hear it so he hid it away. Better this time.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The very last thing that Jaskier was expecting was company. 

He sat outside the tavern, partially into the woods. Writing just to write. Playing his lute mindlessly as he pondered, whether or not he would live up to the same standards he’d advised Ciri.

_ “Cos that sun that beams down as my hands touch the grass _

_ After summers of fasting I feel hunger at last _

_ For the person fifteen year old me would be proud to have known” _

He does wonder. If he were still young, but if he knew what he did now. Would he have still fought so valiantly to join Geralt? Would he still have started on this adventure? Would he still have fallen in love with a witcher, and despite his better judgement a witch as well? If he could go back and make all of this a decision once again, would he?

Of course, that consideration seemed prideful. After everything, it seemed as though destiny was not quite as strong willed as he had thought. When his anger dissipated he realized that it was actually much more fragile. Neither the witch or the witcher were destined to have children. They both lived lives that didn’t allow it and yet, they’d managed to shatter that fate and be gifted with one of the most beautiful children Jaskier had ever seen.

_ “Cos these plates they smash like waves” _

They had shattered destiny and it was beautiful. Stunning, really.

_ “Place your smile in mine” _

The way they fought for one another. Everything they'd overcome to get to where they were. Together. 

_ “And the wine stains hide the tears . . . Why stay?”  _

He always came back to question whether or not he had a place in this mural of shattered glass, the strong willed parents were making for their daughter and their lives.

_ “Hide the-”  _ What? Was Jaskier capable of facing what he was keeping from the two? Was he able to address the feelings he was coming to terms with?

His love for Geralt had nearly torn them apart. How could he bring himself to admit that it had grown? That he loved Yennefer too? How could he throw yet another rock against the glass they were trying to pick back up. Everything seemed so calm.  _ “But that breathing you hear don't mistake it for sighs.” _ Were things as peaceful as he thought they were? 

They hadn’t spoken much further about Jaskier’s state since the night with the papers. He wished that he could explain.  _ “Don’t you realise - They’re just battle cries dear” _

He almost laughed. This song was never meant to be what it had turned into.

“Dandelion?”

Jaskier jumped and saw Ciri looking at him. He couldn’t help but smile and pat the ground beside him. She sat and regarded him carefully. She looked at him like he was tired. And perhaps he was. He looked back at her and decisively continued to sing.

_ “And these lines aren’t wrinkles dear heart”  _ He sang softly, a loving smile placed on his face as he looked up to the sky.

_ “Hardly knew the words _

_ They’re just dollops of paint on a new work of art _

_ I’m dolled up love don’t I deserve to just-” _ He broke and laughed softly at himself. Ciri’s expression was rife with concern as she reached up and wiped the tears off of his face. He shook his head,  _ “And as I walk away I know I’ve been through the wars . . . But that creaking you hear in my bones is not pain, it’s applause.” _

He wasn’t angry anymore. 

He may not have everything he wanted, but he was so fucking full of love. 

Christ did it feel good to feel passion again.

He couldn’t even care that it wasn’t returned.

He glanced over and his heart clenched as he saw tears in Ciri’s eyes as well. He shushed her softly, set aside his lute and pulled her to his chest.

_ “Come on love, please don’t start” _

Don’t start crying dear girl. There’s no more time to be sad. To be angry.

_ “Sing your notes, play your part” _

Continue to play your flute. Even when he was gone.

_ “Then we’ll leave.” _

He would be gone.

_ “We were gods” _

But he would live on in her. He would live in Yennefer and Geralt. He would be remembered. That was all he needed.

Would Ciri ever understand what she had given to Jaskier? Would she ever be able to comprehend that she gave him back his youth? Jaskier didn’t know how to put it into words, so how could she ever. He tried nonetheless.

_ “With you I could summon the gods and the stars _

_ Watch them dance out the plays that we wrote from the heart _

_ And we’d laugh at the ghosts of our fears. We were kids” _ He laughed and pressed a kiss atop her head, holding her tightly against his chest.

He’d had his adventures.

_ “‘Come at me your blaggards you’d yell _

_ From the back of the gallery _

_ Say goodbye. I am not _

_ ‘Come at me you blaggards’, you’d yell from the banks _

_ Wielding words against make-believe wizards and tanks _

_ And by god love believe me, I wanted to play too, I did” _

He’d had his adventures and turned them into the sweetest music he knew how to. Looking back, he knew that his music would undoubtedly do for others what other’s music had done for him. 

In that small way, he would live on just as his family would.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He would say that things started to get better.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The anger left him completely and Jaskier couldn’t help but feel like he’d come home after a very long treacherous journey. 

The other’s noticed it as well.

He could tell.

When he smiled, they looked just a little too long. When he played a happy tune, they stopped whatever they were doing to listen. He felt guilty that he’d worried them so, but it felt amazing to see them care. 

He’d reached such a wonderful peace and he was almost certain that destiny had too.

The three found their new routine. Jaskier still took Ciri out, Yennefer still taught her to use her magic, Geralt had begun to teach her combat skills. Just in case. In a case they all prayed would never occur. Jaskier’s contract with the inn became permanent, and in doing so he was given a bigger room. They moved two extra beds beside the large one already present. Yennefer and Geralt slept side by side, and Ciri and Jaskier took the spare beds respectively. There was a domesticity that grew among them. Jaskier couldn’t help but love it deeply. They still had their flaws, but they dealt with them together. 

As the seasons changed from fall to winter Jaskier’s flair for the dramatic came back and he gave performances of tales and ballads striking and impersonal 

_ “A drunkard, A daughter, A preacher, god knows how you _

_ You dragged us both into the darkness that grows _

_ Oh dear God. I won’t” _

Every so often, he would reflect on the dark parts of his life, but they felt much easier to sing about. They were in the past. 

_ “But we sunk into water no creature can know,” _

Though he’d gone somewhere dark.

_ “You dragged me along to watch all your shows.” _

His family was there for his every performance, and he no longer worried it was unwillingly.

_ Our devils broke rank, and out of the depths came an army” _

He knew they were there for him, because they had fought so hard to get him back from the depths of his own mind where his fear and anger held him captive.

He knew their love did not match his own, but he’d learned that that did not indicate that it wasn’t present. No. He may retreat at times to give Yennefer and Geralt privacy. He may look away when they shared an intimacy that had never been turned his way. But he didn’t doubt his importance anymore. 

It had meant everything to him that on that night, they had not let him _ “Leave without a fight.” _ They told him in no uncertain terms: _ “I won’t let you turn our last night into this.” _

They hadn’t let him run away. Geralt had kept his promise. He did not ask Jaskier to leave. 

In return Jaskier put the space they all needed between them. On nights that Yennefer and Geralt sought each other’s company exclusively Jaskier took Ciri out. From tavern hopping to watching duels of fists, they occupied themselves. When there was nothing new to do, they would go out to their place against that tree, behind the tavern and talk. They would talk about it all. _ “I’m going to binge watch a box set, drink wine, reminisce” _

The weather got cold. Winter came and it was harder to hide outside, but they made do. 

And if it ever brought Jaskier sorrow to leave so that the lovers could share in something he had gone so long without? Well. He was human.

_ “This isn’t a break up dear heart, it’s a season finale.” _

He would never let Ciri notice it though. No. He only showed his happiness. Only showed that he was content and though sometimes it was difficult, it was never impossible. For even when he was wistful and lonely, the gratitude in his heart for the family he had was overwhelming.

Hmm.

He finally understood what Geralt had meant about emotions so overwhelming it was hard to see anything but them.

Which meant that he finally had something to thank destiny for.

He could thank destiny that the feeling he had which overwhelmed everything else, was no longer that anger and despair.

It was hope.

It was love.

It was the feeling he got singing that song. The song he thought would forever represent the worst of his nights, but instead became the ballad of his new beginning.

It was the feeling when Ciri sang along to the chorus.

_ “Cos these plates they smash like waves _

_ Place your smile in mine _

_ And the wine stains hide the tears _

_ Why stay?”  _

It was the feeling of knowing that he stayed not because he had nowhere else to be, but because there was nowhere else he could go that would compensate for the distance from his home.

_ “Hide the _

_ But that breathing you hear don't mistake it for sighs _

_ Don’t you realise - They’re just battle cries dear” _

It was the feeling of joy that he no longer had to travel to find adventure. There was adventure in everything he did here, because everything he did here was in the presence of the only people whose stories he cared for anymore.

_ “And these lines aren’t wrinkles dear heart _

_ Hardly knew the words _

_ “They’re just dollops of paint on a new work of art _

_ I’m dolled up love don’t I deserve to just” _

It was the feeling of pride. That he had lived a life his younger self would be pleased with.

_ “And as I walk away I know I’ve been through the wars _

_ But that creaking you hear in my bones is not pain, it’s applause.” _

It was the feeling of knowing that there was no more war to live through.

_ “It’s not pain it’s applause” _

He was so thankful for the feeling of overwhelming love coursing through his every breath and moment.

When any breath or moment could be your last, you appreciate the feeling of love even more.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I’ve not been drinking.” Jaskier said when he walked into their room, a faint smile on his face. 

Now, that may sound unprompted, but he hadn’t seen two such serious expressions as the ones that Yennefer and Geralt were wearing when he entered for a very long time. 

Geralt sat against the window ledge, his arms crossed over his chest. Yennefer was on the bed, regarding Jaskier with a fond smile. It was all so familiar. It brought warmth to his chest. They had become so comfortable and usual around one another. Jaskier carried on into the room and walked over to the fireplace, putting a pot of water over the flames for tea.

“Jask?” Geralt spoke softly.

He glanced up, “Hmm?”

“How are you?” Yennefer asked quietly.

And Jaskier thought about it. He did. He’d learned his lesson about trying to keep things from them. They would always find out, and ultimately it was better that they did. They cared for him after all. “I’m doing fine.” He said honestly. 

Yennefer nodded ever so slightly and Geralt cleared his throat. “Are you ever- lonely?” He inquired.

Jaskier looked between them and laughed softly. “Why, do you have someone to pair me with? Tired of me taking up so much space in your relationship?” He asked, teasingly. Though the offer was present as it usually was. He trusted them now. Trusted them enough to believe that if they asked him to leave it wasn’t out of disregard. Still, he found some comfort in the way that Yennefer laughed. It sounded very much like a dismissal. As though the idea of Jaskier leaving was laughable. He smiled.

“Uh- no.” Geralt said, clearing his throat. “No. We actually were- It was really more- The uh- the opposite.” Geralt explained. His sentence lacked grace so severely that Jaskier wasn’t even sure what he was trying to say.

“I’m sorry?” He asked, laughing gently. 

Yennefer shook her head and climbed off of the bed. She walked on over to the bard and gently laid her hands on his cheeks. “We do not want you to take up less space in our relationship, Jaskier. We’d like you to take up more.”

What?

Sorry.

What?

“I’m sorry.” Jaskier said, nearly frozen. “What?” He asked.

“We have a lot to discuss. Do you want to sit down? I’ll make your tea.” Yennefer offered.

Jaskier stared at her blankly. “I’m sorry- what?”

Geralt stepped over as well, gently guiding the bard to the king sized bed, sitting him down gently. The witcher had softened quite a lot in the last months, but the touch was especially gentle. “Jaskier, are you alright? How are you- doing?” Geralt asked.

And at the most inappropriate time, the song wrote itself in a searing script across his mind.

_ “All it took to unearth in the dust and the dirt _

_ Some release or respite from the heat and the hurt _

_ Was taking the time now and then to ask how I am” _

Was that really all it was going to take? To break the life that they’d built? Could they possibly see an outcome to this conversation that didn’t end in the awful shattering of their destiny-mural-life? Jaskier couldn’t imagine that this conversation could wind up doing anything but drive them apart.

_ “And now at the end, at the end of all things _

_ I’m not going to scream, beat my chest at the wind” _

He could have screamed at them, if they didn’t both look so- nervous. Since when did they get nervous?

_ “I’m doing fine,” _ He said, almost singing. But if he was completely honest, even as a part of the song, he wasn’t sure that he’d have the strength by the end to do anything but utter that line.

They both just stared at him.

Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on "Battle Cries" by The Amazing Devil on their new album "The Horror and The Wild" GO LISTEN TO IT


	6. Medley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’d written once that the three of them did not like how they appeared because they’d never been able to appear how they’d like. 
> 
> “Never really liked the pattern that much on the wallpaper so anyway.” 
> 
> Perhaps that line had been written in naivety. Perhaps he hadn’t appreciated the facade for what it was. Perhaps the facade kept people away, but could it have protected him from feeling so exposed?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that it's been so long? I was having a very difficult time with this ending. (As in, I didn't want to end it.) But I think this is it for this portion of the story. I might eventually add something to this, and make it a series. It's all very undecided. Thank you a lot to everyone who has commented and said such wonderful and kind things.

“ _ It’s like all the wallpaper inside my heart _

_ Is slowly slowly peeling off _

_ And I’m showing _

_ All the stains and things” _

His own words seemed to come back to taunt him. He’d always known that the two of them could see past his facade. Geralt had from the moment they had met. The witcher heard a young boy sing of adventures he’d never lived and promptly called Jaskier on his bullshit. He was nearly the reason that Jaskier had sought out the life he’d lived. Simply, because Geralt saw through him, and told him to be genuine. If he wanted to sing of triumph and tragedy, he needed to experience it. Yennefer, on the other hand, had taken her time. She’d pulled down the decorations he’d put up around himself to distract. As she did so, he added on more. He was not quick to let her peel away the version of himself people saw. She worked her way up to that, earning his trust and giving him hers. She revealed his true self. She did so patiently. Gently. In a manner Jaskier hadn’t thought of the witch as capable of when they first met. 

He liked to imagine that he could see through them as well. Liked to imagine that when they ached or felt joy he was the first to notice. Well, apart from one another. He saw the things they did that revealed them in ways people were simply not used to witnessing. It was funny how expectations could warp a person’s view. 

Still.

He had thought that they were at an understanding.

He wasn’t an idiot, and he knew that they weren’t either. They all knew why he was alone. None of them tried to deny that Jaskier was not by himself due to a lack of interest, but that it was intentional. Defensive. Resigned. Yennefer knew that Jaskier would never quite move on from the love that she’d witnessed in him. She knew that rather than grow to resent that love he channeled it into Ciri. Geralt knew that Jaskier had grown content. Content in his loneliness. That he lived through the relationship that had grown between Geralt and Yennefer. He saw that what Jaskier had confessed that night in the tavern never left, but became dormant instead.

They both knew.

They had to.

Yet, they chose to taunt him in such a manner? 

Jaskier sat and watched Yennefer make tea. She seemed to move more slowly than usual, and he had to believe that it was a soft attempt to buy him time to think. Geralt seemed content standing to the side as well. Neither of them pushed him to speak. They simply waited. Waited for Jaskier to use his voice to tell them exactly what he thought of this situation they were proposing.

What was he supposed to think of this?

What was he supposed to say of this?

How could they bare him exposed this way, and expect him to be composed enough to reply? 

What did they expect this conversation to result in?

“You- would like me to . . . “ He started and then fell silent again. 

The first and greatest challenge was understanding exactly what they were asking of him.

When he glanced up at Yennefer, who was extending him a cup of tea, she was looking at Geralt. Her head nodded in the simplest of ways, and his eyes narrowed. Jaskier couldn’t do more than look between them. They were saying something with their eyes that Jaskier simply couldn’t hear. Any notion that he could see in them what they could see through him began to slip out of his mind. What the hell were they thinking?

Geralt broke the silence. “You belong in our bed.” He stated.

“Excuse me?” Jaskier sputtered. What kind of cruel nonsense was this? Inviting him to lay with them when they knew the sentiments he had? To have him entertaining the idea of exactly what they could do in a shared bed? To suggest that he desired to join them in their entangled dance?

Well, yes. 

He wanted it. 

That didn’t mean it was a good idea.

He wanted it terribly.

It was a horrible idea. A worse joke.

Jaskier was so caught up in his own thoughts that he could not even acknowledge that Yennefer was rolling her eyes at the witcher. She sat beside the bard, a gentle hand threading it’s fingers through his hair. He felt his back straighten out as her fingers gently combed through the hair on the back of his head. “Dandelion.” She said gently. “Forgive him, the brute.” She requested, flicking her eyes in a far less soft way to the witcher before returning them to Jaskier’s face. “He means our love. He means our lives and by our sides. You do not belong sat across the tavern as though you aren’t a part of this thing we share.” She explained. “You don’t think we see the way you regard us? You don’t think we see the pain in your eyes when you observe our affections?” She inquired, a soft laugh escaping her chest.

Jaskier was having a very difficult time seeing what was humorous. 

“If you see it, then this is a very unkind joke.” He bit out.

Geralt grunted.

“Oh? What? Do you have something to say?” Jaskier snapped slightly. He was so cornered. He felt so confused. Yennefer’s smile was tender, but it felt mocking.

The witcher walked over and pulled a chair in front of the bard. He sat in it, so close that their knees touched. Jaskier stared at where they came in contact. Geralt gently grabbed his hand, “Do you not believe that we could love you too?” He asked.

Jaskier suddenly wished that he hadn’t asked for Geralt to speak.

He liked it better when the witcher was silent.

He squirmed. They were both being so tender with him. Despite his age and resolution . . . he felt a bit like a blushing young man again, unsure how to speak to a suitor. “Could? Sure. But you don’t.”

“Hmm.” Came the, quite frankly infuriating, response.

Yennefer gently scratched her nails against the soft skin on the back of Jaskier’s head. “Oh, and how, pray tell, do you know this bard?”

“Because . . . Well, because you both-” He cleared his throat and felt his eyes close. It was frustratingly relaxing in this position. The slight but steady connection to Geralt, the tender touch from Yennefer. A warm cup of tea held tight in his palms. It was hard to stay defensive. To stay on edge. Jaskier wanted to stay on edge. He needed to stay on edge. If he did, then they couldn’t get too close without cutting themselves. They couldn’t do this without feeling the same pain he did.

Instead he softened, leaning into the touch. He held onto Geralt’s hand in return.

Yennefer arched her brow. “We both what?”

“You’ve both known. If you felt the same way, you would have said something.” Jaskier admitted, opening his eyes to look at Yennefer. She regarded him cautiously, but her expression held an understanding.

Geralt huffed, “Right. We are both certainly known for our communicative expertise.” He said flatly.

Jaskier looked at him. Wanting to glare at him, but admittedly seeing the flaw in that reasoning. It wasn’t unreasonable to expect that even if they had shared the sentiment they could not figure out how to address it. Regardless. “Then you can’t.” He said.

“Can’t what?” Geralt retorted.

“You can’t love me. You asked if I believed whether or not you could love me too, and no. The obvious answer is no.” He said and regained some of his lip. 

Yennefer laughed softly, “Oh? And why, pray tell, do you think that?” She inquired.

“Because you’ve seen me.” He stated. “ _ But today we ripped it off, we ripped it off, we showed the world that we exist.” _ A line written out of despair in an attempt to inspire hope. He’d sang that line because he’d believed it then, and it rang truer now. They’d seen everything that Jaskier was behind the act, the anger and sorrow he was capable of. They’d seen every version of him he knew of, and probably some he didn’t. 

He’d written once that the three of them did not like how they appeared because they’d never been able to appear how they’d like. 

“ _ Never really liked the pattern that much on the wallpaper so anyway.” _

Perhaps that line had been written in naivety. Perhaps he hadn’t appreciated the facade for what it was. Perhaps the facade kept people away, but could it have protected him from feeling so exposed?

They had fallen silent.

“Believe it or not. We like what we see.” Yennefer said gently.

Jaskier scoffed, pointedly avoiding eye contact with Geralt.

Geralt grunted. “Always have.” He admitted.

What?

He stared at his own hands in his lap, trying desperately to collect himself to have this conversation. 

Geralt’s hand met Yennefer’s at the back of Jaskier’s head. Jaskier slowly looked up to see something open and honest and worried on Geralt’s face. He frowned and bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from saying something. Geralt took up that task, “Are you alright?” He asked quietly. 

Jaskier inhaled slowly.

_ “Give me two damn minutes and I’ll be fine.” _

Fuck, did this song come back to bite him in the ass. He just needed a few minutes to figure out how to do this. How to understand what was happening between them right now. He just needed time to wrap his head around it all.

_ “Give me two damn minutes and I’ll be fine,” _

But it hit him.

_ “These hands are growing cold” _

He didn’t have two minutes.

_ “They’re running out of things to hold,” _

They had eternity together . . . but Jaskier had barely any time left with them. He didn’t want to waste his time with them. 

_ “Give me two damn minutes and I’ll be fine.” _

He was even more afraid of wasting their time.

He felt something like despair begin to wash over him. He did not want it, not at all. He thought that he’d gotten past that despair. Thought he’d grown to be content with what he had and accept what they had without him. Entertaining this idea- this concept? Had him right back to where he started. 

Even if they wanted him. Should they? Should they waste their time on someone so temporary?

“Dandelion?” 

Jaskier looked up at Geralt. He looked at Yennefer. They seemed to be watching him cautiously. He tried to think of the words to say to explain.

They couldn’t be together.

It simply wouldn’t work. 

It wasn’t hate or sorrow that spurred that thought. He had long since stopped doubting their affection for him. It was just . . . logic, at this point. He could bring nothing to them that they didn’t already have. He didn’t have the power, beauty, or life span to do more than be a moment of distraction. Where they needed power and beauty, they had each other. Where they needed life, they had Ciri. Though he no longer ached at that thought, it wasn’t a position he necessarily wanted to live his life in. After all, he didn’t know how much more of it had. 

He realized that it was exactly the position he’d put himself in.

His own words popped up into his head.

“ _ But I held your hand _

_ As you shook in the middle of the night,” _

Despite knowing damn well that this wasn’t right, it seemed the second voice from so long ago felt the need to sing it’s mind once more. The song sounded as a steadfast reminder that there was one thing he could do that they had less of without him. They could love one another. They both knew how to be passionate. They both knew how to be kind. Somewhere in them, Jaskier believed they both knew how to be gentle. Hell, they were often soft with him. However, that was not their nature. 

Both loved like storms. Their love hit like a wind, often strong enough to push around the subject it was aimed towards. It blew through the relationship tugging and pulling them in new directions. Their passion rained down like hail. It was impossible to walk through without pain, but ultimately covered the ground with crystals incredibly fine. Right in the center of it all, where the two of them stood? Was the eye of the hurricane. Still. Peaceful. Understood. Absolute beauty in the middle of chaos.

Jaskier was a sunny day. His voice calmed the winds to a soft breeze, his sacrifice warming the hail to become soft spring showers. Soft was his nature and his actions showed that. They would be there for one another when they knew how, but they would misstep. Let anger persuade them to fight, let passion disguise moments that could be gentle. Jaskier would not make that mistake with them. When they needed a gentle touch he would always be the hand to provide it.

The second voice fought valiantly to make Jaskier consider this. To make him understand that he did have a place. Even if it wasn’t permanent, it was there. It was his for the taking while he still could. 

If he could brave the storm, he was welcome to stand in the eye. 

More so, he was being asked to.

The voice, Jaskier began to realize, was the voice of his hope itself begged him to let himself have it. To just give in and trust blindly that it was the right decision.

But he couldn’t.

Christ, he wanted to.

But he couldn’t.

He pulled away from both of them and shook his head. Standing, he crossed the room to find his coat. He was sure it was obvious that though he was finding his coat, walking away was for his own benefit. Space to breathe.“I- need to go for a walk or . . . something. I just- I need to go.” He said, his mind already made, this fight already lost. He turned, found his coat and grabbed it, starting to pull it on. Yennefer shook her head. 

“Don’t give up.” She said softly.

_ “Without waking you said,” _

How did she always seem to know what he was thinking before he could even think it?

_ “Not yet not yet,” _

He wanted to get away. Needed to.

_ “Not yet not yet” _

But how could he? When he knew so blatantly the pain of being left after opening up. How could he even consider leaving, giving up, when Yennefer asked him not to?

_ “Not yet not-” _

Jaskier stood away from them and held tightly onto his coat. He wasn’t giving up. That wasn’t what this was. It was far more complicated than that. “I’m not giving up-” He tried to say. He wondered if it sounded sincere. Tried to decide if it was.

They both looked at him expectantly, he knew. He could feel it on the back of his head, making his hair stand. He closed his eyes. 

_ “Sing me awake with a song about pirates” _

“It is not fair of you. Of either of you.” Jaskier’s voice was strained with frustration. Frustration that disguised fear. “To suggest that this could work. We all know that it cannot.” Jaskier said.

“How?” Geralt inquired.

_ “And I will try to harmonise,” _

“How?” Jaskier scoffed, because the word try was the most prominent in that line. Try as he might, Jaskier would never be able to harmonize with the melody of their love.

_ “And sip the sunlight from your eyes,” _

He did not want to take away the hope he saw in their expressions. Did not want to become a burden again. Old feelings of- anger and hurt began to come back and he prayed they go away. “Because I have come to terms, knowing that I will be the first to die and be left behind. Submitting myself to your love- allowing myself to feel my own for you would merely be a reminder every day that every day could be the last for me. A reminder that when I am gone you will go on adventures without me.” He tried to explain, tried to make them understand. What it was they were asking him to live with.

Yennefer crossed her arms, “So you’ve lied to Ciri, then?” She accused him. 

Jaskier’s breath caught and he turned back to her. “What?”

The witch shrugged her shoulders. “You told her you would be with her. Always. You’ve told her that you’ll be with all of us, even after you’ve gone.”

“Yen- . . . “ He started to argue.

She shook her head. “So, were you lying to her, or do you not understand that whether you join our relationship or not, you will be in our hearts for however long we have to live.” She asked simply.”Do you know that we will never again go on an adventure without you? That every moment we are apart you are in our hearts and on our minds? Do you not recognize that that will not change if you die?” 

Jaskier stared at her. The second voice sang proudly.

“ _ Oh sing me awake _

_ With all the things we’ll do today _

_ But instead we’ll build a den _

_ Out of pillows and get drunk again,” _

Jaskier glanced at Geralt who was just regarding Yennefer carefully. When he looked back at Jaskier he also shrugged. “She’s right.” He said.

Yennefer looked at Jaskier, her expression nearly a challenge. “Do you not know that this is already the case? Our love for one another is independent, but our love for you tinges everything we do.” She said to him and Jaskier’s face started to heat. “ _ Cos everyone know how sex is better when you’re . . . Unemployed.” _

“If-” Jaskier began and shook his head, looking down. “ _ I cannot find the words to keep you . . . It cannot be a lie if no one hears.”  _ He had to admit how frightened he was. “If we were to- consider this . . . there is no going back. Not for me anyway- I . . . don’t think I can recover from losing you again.” He said.

Yennefer looked at Geralt who nodded slowly. Because last time Jaskier had sung, “ _ Let the seabirds . . . Don’t turn 'round . . . He says,”  _ Geralt hadn’t. He had walked away. This time Geralt was facing him. If the witcher turned around it would be to leave once again. Despite all of his hesitation, he prayed that Geralt keep his promise. Prayed that Geralt wouldn’t turn around. Prayed that Geralt wouldn’t leave.

Instead, Geralt sat back down on the bed. “We don’t want to go back. We want to move forward.” He said. 

Yennefer sat in the chair across the room and nodded, “So, use the voice you’ve made a living off of, and tell us what you’re thinking.” She insisted quietly. “Not in an attempt to convince us this is wrong, but to let us know how to convince you it is not.” She requested.

Jaskier didn’t want it to be wrong. 

_ “It’s what my heart just yearns to say _

_ In ways that can’t be said,” _

He wasn’t certain that words existed that he could string together to explain how badly he wanted this, but how deeply he feared it. 

“I’m going to die.” He said softly.

_ “It’s what my rotting bones will sing.” _

“Yes.” Yennefer agreed. Jaskier was not oblivious to the way in which Geralt seemed to flinch at the acknowledgment. He was not oblivious but he was the slightest bit shocked. Surely, Geralt had grown content with it as well. Surely, the witcher was not fearing that day as much as Jaskier himself had before. 

_ “When the rest of me is dead.” _

“Neither of you will.” He said softly, and this time he did look at Geralt. For 

_ “It’s what’s engraved upon my heart,” _

The witch nodded slowly, “Technically inaccurate. We can both be killed. But, yes. We will not age, and will most likely live after you.”

_ “In letters deeply worn,” _

Jaskier nodded slowly. “I’m content in knowing that I will pass before either of you. Any of you.” Ciri living on after him felt the most natural, she was only a child after all, but it still hurt quite a bit.

_ “Today I somehow understand the reason I was born,” _

“So, you’ve said.” Yennefer hummed. Jaskier breathed slowly, a hapless attempt to slow his own heart. 

He nodded. “It seems the biggest and most obvious obstacle to face.” He admitted. When the biggest first obstacle to face was something so impossible to recover from, it almost seemed trivial to bring up any other concern. 

Yennefer did not share the sentiment. “It does seem that. But perhaps we forget that for a few moments.” She requested. “If we could pretend as though immortality, life and death, were not relevant? If we could believe that we’d all live forever, or die together . . . how would you proceed?” She asked curiously. 

Geralt seemed to lean closer.

Jaskier looked between them. “I would-” He started. That truly was a wonderful question. One he wasn’t sure he knew the answer to. He stepped across the room to Ciri’s bed and sat down. “I would not know how to proceed . . . But I think I would like, very much, to have this conversation.” He said softly.

“So. Let’s.” Geralt said.

Jaskier nodded ever so slightly and then grimaced, “I- don’t know that it is a conversation that you would like to have.” He said honestly.

Yennefer rolled her eyes ever so slightly, “We’ve done nothing but try to have this conversation with you, why wouldn’t we want to-”

“No.” Jaskier said and squirmed. “I don’t think  _ you _ will enjoy this conversation.” He clarified, looking at Geralt sheepishly.

Geralt frowned and looked at the bard in slight confusion. “Me?”

Jaskier nodded, dropping his gaze. Fuck. He hated this. “Yennefer and I- have sort of . . . settled our differences.” He explained quietly. “We had to. We were here, together. We faced it. Apologized and such.”

Geralt quirked a brow, “Did I not- apologize?”

Yennefer glanced between them, but seemed to read that this was something she didn’t need to comment on. Jaskier was silently thankful. He couldn’t imagine that any extra sarcasm or wit would do much other than increase the tension in the room. The room that was already wound so tightly. “You- did.” He said and cleared his throat. “But- you also- you didn’t- See . . . You didn’t have to face . . . the consequences.” He explained quietly. 

_ “It’s not fair, it’s not fair how much I love you.” _

He loved Geralt so fucking much that when Geralt left it mattered. It just didn’t feel fair.

Geralt frowned. “Hmm.”

If he hadn’t been so nervous he would have made fun of Geralt for it. “It’s- perhaps a bit difficult to trust that if something goes wrong . . . “ He took a slow breath to steady himself. “You’ve always left. You don’t know.” He said softly. “What it’s like to see- exactly what you’re capable of doing to me.” He admitted quietly. 

Yennefer laughed softly.

Jaskier flushed slightly, “No- not like- that. I mean, yes, like that. Clearly. Both of you really. Thought I can hardly be blamed for that, you’re practically the most attractive people the world has seen-” He rambled, and for the briefest of moments he seemed so utterly like himself that when he looked up both of them looked so- fond. He waved a hand and dismissed it. “Shut up. Both of you.” He muttered.

“I’ve not said anything.” Geralt said. 

Jaskier opened his mouth to retort, expecting the witcher to be quiet, but Geralt added a slightly sarcastic, “I could start speaking though. If you’d like me to tell you exactly what I’m capable of doing to you.” 

Jaskier frowned and opened his mouth like a fish out of water. Trying to breathe in, despite feeling as though oxygen was not what his lungs were used to. Yennefer couldn’t help but chuckle, as did Geralt.

And then Jaskier did as well.

_ “It’s not fair, cos you make me laugh when I’m actually _

_ really fucking cross at you for something.” _

“You’re awful.” Jaskier said. He felt the worry start to melt. The fear that he couldn’t be honest with Geralt. It wasn’t until the fear started to dissipate that he realized it had been there. He wondered how long he’d been afraid to be honest with Geralt. He wondered if Geralt had known that Jaskier was constantly afraid to be honest with him. 

He couldn’t help but recall the night that Yennefer asked for honesty from him. Sitting there with Ciri, the three of them seeking comfort together. How Yennefer had asked what Jaskier wanted and he’d admitted that he wished he could tell Geralt. He wished he could explain that he loved Geralt so much. That he dreamed of it. Them reuniting. 

_ “And he’ll say _

_ Oh how oh how unreasonable _

_ How unreasonably in love I am with everything you do.” _

Jaskier observed the pair as the tension settled back into the room. It was a different kind of tension now. Almost excited. Having this conversation without restrictions held an air of promise and potential. If they could address the concerns now . . . just maybe.

“You can’t say awful things to me when you’re hurt.” Jaskier spoke, breaking the silence.

Geralt grunted quietly, but nodded. “I understand.”

“And you can’t leave when you're upset with me. Or Yen.” He said, a hint of demand in his voice. 

Geralt nodded. “I told you I wouldn’t.”

Jaskier hummed, “You’ll have to prove it.”

Silence fell again and Yennefer looked between the two. Geralt slowly nodded, “Do you intend on upsetting me?” He asked.

Jaskier shook his head. “I don’t.” He said honestly. 

Geralt nodded.

“I am still the same though. I have grown and changed, but fundamentally. I am the same.” He explained as though that were a problem.

Geralt’s expression suggested that it was not. 

Jaskier looked at Yennefer and cleared his throat. “I am not like either of you, I will need to eat and sleep and not be treated as less than for being- human.” He said.

She nodded, finally bringing herself back into the discussion. “You are no less than us. You simply have needs.”

“Right. Good. Yes. I do. I will have needs.” He said and looked at them both, “I will talk too much, require attention, ask for your affection-”

“Refer to yourself like a pet?” Geralt asked in an unimpressed manner.

Jaskier’s eyes narrowed. “You’ll have to be less harsh with me.” He said. “If you can manage to hold back words of insult like you do anything kind that might cross your mind. Hell, if you feel so inclined you could even dare to say nice things every once in a while. That couldn’t hurt.” 

Yennefer’s brow arched at the boldness behind Jaskier’s words.

Geralt smiled slightly. “You would make for a very cute pet.”

Jaskier huffed, once again finding himself flustered. “Git.”

Yennefer laughed, “Boys. Come on, now. We’re having a civil conversation.” She teased gently.

At the same time that Jaskier mumbled, “I’m simply surprised he can get out enough words to hold one,” Geralt taunted, “It seems to be much more like a monologue.” 

Yennefer rolled her eyes and stood, walking over to Jaskier. She held out her hand. “Come closer.” She requested, and Jaskier accepted the hand, doing as she asked. Together, they walked over to the bed and sat beside Geralt. Despite the conversation still to be had- Jaskier had to admit that it felt quite right to be sat between them. 

Yennefer tucked her skirt up so she could cross her legs and sit facing him. “When you are thinking? You have to say something.” She told him. 

Jaskier looked up, “Pardon me?” He laughed, and then realized that she was serious. “Out of the three of us, I do think that I’ve proven the most likely to say something pretty much always. You two give monks a run for their money when it comes to silence, and honestly it’s a bit infuriating-”

Yennefer put her finger over his mouth, promptly shutting him up. “No, no. I said, you have to say  _ something. _ Not say anything.” She said. “You may have proven that you contain the most words, but you’ve yet to show that you can use them to defend yourself.”

“W’t?” He mumbled against her hand. 

She shifted her hand to caress his jaw, running her thumb over his mouth. “We will make mistakes. You have every right to worry that we will not always be gentle, or know how to show our affection. We may even occasionally make things worse, but Geralt is not the only one who has left after our fights.” 

Jaskier shook his head, “I only left when I was told to-” He argued. 

Geralt rested a hand on Jaskier’s knee, “Physically.” He corrected.

“What?” 

“Your mind and heart leave the moment you get hurt. You only stay physically.” Geralt explained, making Jaskier frown slightly.

“Oh.” He breathed. “I- suppose that’s not . . . incorrect.” He admitted.

“Staying around us to try and prove that you’re alright when you are not does not help.” Yennefer explained. “If you are upset, you likely have the right to be, but Dandelion, you feel things so strongly. You cannot keep it inside of you. It will tear you apart and indirectly- us.” She said, her thumb running over his cheek. “So you must use your pretty words in a practical way, do you understand?”

Jaskier flushed and nodded ever so slightly.

“ _ I’ll spend my days so close to you _

_ cos if I’m standing here maybe everyone will think I’m alright.” _

Of course, Yennefer would have seen the double meaning behind the line. The silent admission that Jaskier wouldn’t leave because he was trying to prove something. Trying to turn some lie of comfort and happiness into the truth.

“Okay. I can do that.” He said.

As they sat there, Jaskier felt something fill his chest. Something warm that made it simultaneously feel hard to breath and like his heart was beating stronger than ever. He felt so fucking close. He felt like everything he’d ever wanted was on both sides of him. He looked over at Geralt, turned, looked at Yennefer. “This isn’t pity.” He said, a question that wasn’t.

“This is so far from pity.” Geralt agreed.

Jaskier looked at Yennefer cautiously, “You both want this.”

“We both want  _ you _ ,” she confirmed.

Jaskier bit the inside of his cheek.

“And you both realize that this doesn’t make any sense, right? That I’m not some all powerful, all beautiful, all consuming contribution?” He said blatantly. 

“It doesn’t have to make sense. Love is rarely logical.” Yennefer said softly.

_ “Oh how, oh how unreasonable” _

Jaskier nodded some and Geralt cleared his throat. 

“I have not understood since I met you.” Geralt admitted, grabbing Jaskier’s hand again. “Why I loved you so deeply . . . But for some inexplicable reason. I love you in a way I didn’t remember I could love.”

It was like it came out of his dream.

_ “How unreasonably in love I am with everything you do _

_ I’ll spend my days so close to you cos if I’m stood here” _

Jaskier smiled and couldn’t help but laugh. Shit. He couldn’t quite believe that this was happening. He was tempted to ask one of them to pinch him. Wake him. However, if this was a dream he was content to sleep forever.

Perhaps if this was a dream, they would never have to face Jaskier’s mortality. 

Yennefer arched her brow slightly. “Is that a yes?”

_ “Then I’m stood here _

_ And I’ll stand here _

_ I’ll stand here with you.” _

“Yes.”

_ \--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- _

Jaskier wasn’t sure that he’d ever been so certain in his own words. “ _ I promise you I’m not broken . . . “  _ He felt more whole than he ever had. Despite very little having changed, the shift that happened was life changing. 

Every day Jaskier discovered new things. “ _ I promise you there’s more.”  _ New little ways that their relationship had changed. 

Most of it was affection.

Jaskier’s partners were not exactly well known for being affectionate. They could be gentle with him when he needed it, and they had learned well now when that was. However, the little things they did to show him their affections was often so small but so potent that it left him surprised. He was certainly not complaining, though. No, he found he quite enjoyed the way that Yennefer would seat herself behind him as he rehearsed. She’d hum quietly along and gently run her hands over his sides. He often found it hard to concentrate. It was similarly hard to keep his focus when he was cooking dinner for Ciri and Geralt walked up behind him. The witcher would put his hands on Jaskier’s hips and lean against him from behind, observing the meal as it was prepared. He even grunted a soft “smells good,” or a contented “hmm,” every so often.

They allowed him to show it as well, his affections for them. 

Geralt did not look at him strangely or wave him away when he was teaching Ciri and found his gaze lingering on Geralt across the room. Not at all. Jaskier would lose his thoughts as his eyes looked over the man’s form laid out in such a casual way. When he did remember himself and look up, Geralt would be smirking at him with a knowing look. Jaskier would blush and look away. 

He didn’t even realize at first how physically fond he’d become of Yennefer. Nor how she allowed it to happen. Each time the bard passed her, he would place a hand on her back. A soft request to slip by. A gentle reminder that he was there. When Ciri lost control during a lesson, and Yennfer found herself with an injury, Jaskier took pride in being the one to nurse her while she healed. She could heal herself, but she claimed that she left it there so Ciri could see the dangers of losing herself. Jaskier was fairly certain that she just enjoyed having him at her beck and call. Perhaps she recognized that he enjoyed it too. Being needed. Wanted.

That wasn’t all. No, there was much “ _ more to come,”  _ and Jaskier would be seeing it more and more every day.

When came the nights, he often found himself struggling. Struggling to forget the things they agreed not to worry about. Struggling not to succumb back into the anger. Part of his resignation and content was in knowing that he wouldn’t have the people he loved, and therefore he didn’t mind leaving them behind.

At night, with little distraction, remembering that made Jaskier feel those dark feelings again. He wanted to fix it. To prevent it. To grab something fragile and throw it at the wall so it would shatter and break the same way he would eventually.

_ “More to reach for, more to hurl at the door.” _

They moved on.

As did time.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The fire was warm against his back as he strummed his lute quietly. His witch, his witcher, and his daughter all sat at the table, smiling and laughing at whatever trivial game the innkeeper had given Ciri. Jaskier couldn’t help but smile as well. His family was beautiful always . . . but joy was a sentiment they all wore so stunningly. 

“ _ Goodbye to all my darkness, there’s nothing here but light,”  _ He sang quietly. None of them were watching him. None of them heard him. He didn’t mind. This song was not for them anymore. Not as it had once been.

_ “Adieu to all the faceless things that sleep with me at night,” _ The nightmares had been getting worse. He was convinced that that was due to his age. 

“ _ This here is not make up, it’s a porcelain tomb.”  _ It was a feeling so incredibly indescribable. Sitting here, watching the family he was destined to lose as he would his life. Observing the way in which they knew he was there but could not hear him past the moment they were living. Knowing that that would be what it was to be. 

Soon. 

He believed it would be soon.

_ “And his here is not singing, I’m just screaming in tune because-” _ try as they might to ignore the inevitable, as its name suggested it was coming whether they gave it attention or not. And Jaskier was scared. He was. Scared to leave for forever. He wanted to yell it from the rooftops that he was not ready for death. Not now that life had given him something worth staying alive for. He wanted to scream it to every audience that would lend him an ear. That he wanted to live.

And yet.

He had. 

He had lived so beautifully. So triumphantly. So genuinely.

He’d lived a life he was proud of, filled with people he loved and hardship be damned they had made it through. They’d made it into this new beginning. This life of calm and love. This hope for everlasting peace in the face of a world wrecked with chaos. He’d lived a life that taught him to find love in the music that poured from people’s souls. 

He was so afraid of death, because the unknown was terrifying compared to all that he’d learned. 

Ciri finally lifted her head. She tilted it to the side as if trying to recognize something before she looked over at Jaskier, “I’ve not heard this one.” She said, and Jaskier’s heart lurched with memories from what seemed like so long ago.

“You do know it. Though I don’t believe you had heard that part. It was new to you.” He smiled as the young woman made her way over to the ground beside him and sat there. His grin spread as he asked,“Is that alright, princess? I did not want to bore you with a tune you’ve heard before.” He teased gently.

He saw that she too recognized the words from a moment they’d shared. “My dear dandelion, your songs never bore me. No matter how many times I’ve heard them.”

“Good, dear heart. Because you know this tune and I expect you to join me.” He said with a smile.

When Ciri smiled proudly, Jaskier’s heart skipped . . . and they sang.

_ “With you I could summon the gods and the stars _

_ Watch them dance out the plays that we wrote from the heart _

_ And we’d laugh at the ghosts of our fears. We were kids _

_ But we sunk into water no creature can know _

_ You dragged me along to watch all your shows _

_ Our devils broke rank, and out of the depths came an army _

_ And as I walk away I know I’ve been through the wars _

_ But that creaking you hear in my bones is not pain, it’s applause!” _

Ciri was smiling widely, and Jaskier noticed that they had caught the attention of Geralt and Yennefer. Though they hadn’t moved from the table, the warmth in their expressions as they regarded the scene before them was all the assurance that Jaskier needed to know they loved him.

He could not help but feel so incredibly thankful for the conversation they’d instigated. For the leap that they’d taken, not knowing whether or not Jaskier would agree. For Jaskier was very afraid of death, but he was ever so thankful that they would not let Jaskier live feeling unloved and alone. He was so incredibly thankful that they did not let him leave until they’d convinced him to spend the time he did have with them.

_ “All it took to unearth in the dust and the dirt _

_ Some release or respite from the heat and the hurt _

_ Was taking the time now and then to ask how I am.” _

They’d opened up a door so welcoming and homey that Jaskier walked in and could not imagine himself ever leaving again. They had their differences, even dealt with a fight or two but ultimately? They were so much better off facing those things together than they could ever have been apart.

And when the time came, that Jaskier should have to face his finale alone?

He was afraid . . . but he would do it.

_ “And now at the end, at the end of all things _

_ I’m not going to scream, beat my chest at the wind _

_ I’m doing fine.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there is more in this story you'd like to see, feel free to ask! I might just type it up and post it.


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